Holly Potter and the Witching World
by D. M. Nealey
Summary: All Holly Potter wanted was to know was what strange and mysterious secret was hidden in that cupboard under the stairs, the cupboard which her aunt and uncle never let her go near... and what did it all have to do with "those lesbian freaks" Aunt Petunia would complain about in hushed tones? (Total AU, in which 90% of the magical world is female.)
1. The Leaky Cauldron

**A/N:** Okay, first things first: Despite the name, this story has nothing to do with the "Witching World" series by Lucia Ashta... which I haven't read anyway... and despite some slight superficial similarities and a few borrowed words and terms, it doesn't have much to do with the "Firebird" trilogy by Darth Marrs... which I _did_ read the first story of before I gave up. It's really more its own thing.

I happened to stumble upon the premise while developing AU scenarios for an online Harry Potter roleplay, and got so fascinated by the concept that I decided to develop the world further. Because the roleplay was pretty adult-themed... this story isn't going to be for kids. There are adult themes and situations (yes, that means there'll be sex, at least somewhere along the line, at least some of it lesbian), and there will be depictions of polygamy, nudity, sexuality and probably one or two unhealthy or disturbing kinks. It won't get as dark or dystopian as the Firebird Trilogy, but it's not going to be all sexy sweetness either.

There'll also be at least one character (a rather popular one from canon) who'll be depicted as transgender in this fic.

If you're still with us after that, then welcome to the witching world! Forget all you know, or all you think you know, about the Harry Potter canon; this is a completely different world, where the rules and norms are completely different, and familiar characters have different roles, relations and in many cases even genders. History is different, and the way magic works is also slightly different. So if you read a section and say to yourself "this wasn't how it was in canon at all!" then you're probably right.

But for all the changes... the story still starts with a neglected orphan whose entire world changes when she is introduced to a world of magic.

* * *

 _Britain has the oldest magical school in the world._

 _South Americans may protest this fact and claim that their Castelobruxo, located deep in the amazon jungle, is the oldest magical school in the world — but we British know that the honour goes to our very own Hogwarts._

 _Though the precise year of Hogwarts's founding has been brought up for debate a number of times, the most reliable sources all claim that the school was founded in the year 993; two whole years before Castelobruxo._

 _The school, then known simply as "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft," was of course founded by the four greatest witches of their time: Godiva Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Silvia Slytherin, whose names and philosophies are still reflected in the four original Hogwarts houses.  
_

 _It is believed that in building and forming the school, the four Founders took inspiration from the Muggle cathedral schools of the time. The Hogwarts castle itself, with its towers and turrets, certainly has several visual elements borrowed from the larger cathedral schools, and it's not hard to see how the Muggles' "seven liberal arts" (Grammar, Astronomy, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry and Music) must have inspired our own "seven magical arts" (Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Runes and Alchemy)._

 _However, the Founders did not copy the Muggles in everything: Whereas the cathedral schools only accepted boys, the Founders set off to make Hogwarts the first all-girls' school in the world._

 _To many modern witches and wizards, it comes as a surprise to learn that Hogwarts for most of its history only accepted girls as its students. But the Founders' reasoning was clear: As most magical births are female, and even at the best of times witches outnumber wizards ten to one, it was deemed unwise to have the precious few wizards in existence freely mingle with witches, and possibly cause undue competition and resentment that might interfere with the girls' education._

 _A few half-hearted attempts were made at making a similar school for wizards, but since there were so few of them, it was found to be impractical. And so, for centuries, there was no formal education for wizards. Since we were still living openly among Muggles, young wizards would sometimes attend cathedral schools or monastery schools for their formal education, but more often they were simply either taught by their parents, or apprenticed to older wizards, and were fully educated when their masters said they were._

 _Things may have continued like this indefinitely, if it hadn't been for the establishing of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1697._

 _All of a sudden, witches and wizards were to live apart from Muggles and hide their magical nature. The newly-established Ministry for Magic decreed that it was no longer feasible to keep the young wizards from a formal education, and so for the safety of everyone, Hogwarts was to accept boys as well as girls._

 _Hence, the school was renamed "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" and became co-ed.  
_

 _To make the transition easier, it was decreed that the boys would not join any of the four established houses of the school; instead a fifth school house would be established, which would exclusively take in boys. This house would be named after the most famous wizard of all time: Merlin._

\- excerpt from "Wizards of Hogwarts" by Batilda Bagshot.

* * *

It was called the _Leaky Cauldron_ , and it was not only the oldest, but the most elusive pub in all of London.

Perhaps it didn't look like much. It was small, unobtrusive, a little shabby… but if the pub itself wasn't all that impressive, the clientele more than made up for it.

For one thing, it was almost completely female. On any given day of the week, you could find women of all ages, shapes and sizes in the _Leaky Cauldron._ Quite literally, in fact; you could find women of shapes and sizes and even colours here that you never found anywhere else. Sharing drinks, playing games, engaging in silly pub quizzes.

At one table, old grandmothers with white hair might let six-year-old girls beat them in card games. At another table, naked green ladies with hair like leaves would be having drinking contests with pale women with fangs and fancy dresses. Or at the bar, you might see pink-haired girls argue with three-foot-tall women about whose turn it was to buy the next round. And that's not even counting all the regular human women in outrageous outfits; here you were just as likely to see absurdly long cloaks or impossibly tall powdered wigs, as you were to see loincloths and bare breasts.

In short, it was the sort of place where unusual and extraordinary women could be _themselves_ , without having to worry about what "polite society" might say about their appearance.

The lady who had just stepped inside through the entrance this particular evening didn't look too noticeable at first glance.

She was of an indeterminate age, rather short and plump with shoulder-length blonde hair and alert blue eyes behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. She was dressed elegantly, if somewhat conservatively, in a dark red frock coat dress; rather old-fashioned for the streets of London but certainly not out of the ordinary for the _Leaky Cauldron._

The barmaid, a rather buxom lady with hair like a red cloud around her head, was just serving a very tall drink to a woman so tiny she needed to sit on three thick phone books to reach the table, when she noticed the newcomer.

"Headmistress!" she greeted. "As I live an' breathe!"

The plump woman returned the smile as she made her way through the crowded barroom. "Hello, Tanya. It's been a while."

Her full name was Ariana Urquart, of the Dumbledore line, but since she had been the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft for several decades, she usually just went under the name _'Headmistress.'_

"Hang on, I'll git ye a drink." The barmaid moved back towards the bar, past three young women were loudly arguing over whose fault it was they'd lost the pub quiz, and stood in front of Ariana. "Got sum real ale on tap… or ha' abyeut a brandy?"

"Your brandy is always excellent," said Ariana warmly. "But I'm actually not here to drink today. I'm meeting my brother here."

 _"Definitely_ a brandy situation, then," said the barmaid with a smirk. "Yoor _brother_ arrived here half an hoor ago. He's waitin' fo' ye in one of the private parloors… him an' that giant friend of his."

"Oh, come now, my brother isn't that bad," said Ariana. "He is a bit of a non-conformist, but he has never been anything but a loving brother to me. I can manage a few hours in his company without feeling the need to get drunk."

"Just as ye say, Headmistress," said the barmaid, even if she didn't seem too convinced.

"But perhaps a cup of tea and some biscuits?" said Ariana. "Some of those delightful coconut macaroons."

"Tea an' macaroons," the barmaid repeated. "Allright."

She walked around the bar and once more passed the three young women, who were still arguing about that pub quiz. She stopped and nodded to them. "By the wa', ye three, ye might want tuh think abyeut gettin' a room fo' the night," she said. "Room Ten's available, ye can be as loud as ye want there."

The three women, Ariana noted, looked like they weren't certain if they were arguing or flirting with one another. They did at least seem to take the offer into consideration before starting to argue again.

After writing down Ariana's order on the slate on the wall, and after the text had glowed pink and vanished to signal that the order was received, the barmaid motioned for Ariana to follow her down the passage that led from the bar.

"Young witches," she sighed, as she led the way down the narrow passage. "One moment they're ready tuh tear each other's heads off, an' the next they end up tearin' each other's _clothes_ off insteed. Ah, tuh be that young an' foolish agyen, eh, Headmistress?"

"In my experience," said Ariana, "old witches can be just as foolish as young ones."

"Oh, sorry," said the barmaid cheerfully. "I meant 'that young an' _horny.'_ "

"So did I."

They had reached the door with the number 10, and the barmaid opened it to let Ariana in.

Inside the small parlour — just as the barmaid had said — two men were waiting for her.

One man was absolutely enormous. He had a huge black beard that covered most of his face, he wore a moleskin overcoat with so many pockets that it was impossible to count them all, and at the moment he was busy taking a swig from a tankard so large that the tiny woman from the bar could have taken a bath in it. When he saw Headmistress, he placed the tankard down with a heavy thud.

"Ariana!" he exclaimed in a thick West County accent. "There yeh are! That explains the tea an' macaroons!"

"Hello, Hagrid," said Ariana. "And Albus."

The other man, who was sitting opposite the giant, now set aside his own mug (hot chocolate, from the looks of it) and raised himself to greet Ariana warmly. "It's been much too long, Ariana. Have a seat!"

Albus Dumbledore could not have looked much more different from his sister. He was tall, thin and auburn-haired, his beard was neat and streaked with grey, and he was wearing the odd combination of a purple dressing gown over an elegant three-piece suit. But when you saw his eyes, you immediately realised that he and Ariana had to be related: they had the same sharp and intelligent blue eyes.

Albus reached out a hand, and made a brief gesture towards an empty chair. Immediately, the chair sprang to life. On four stiff wooden legs, it walked over to them and settled down by the table, right by the cup of tea and plate of coconut macaroons that true to the barmaid's word was waiting for Ariana.

"Will there be owt else?" said the barmaid. "If not, I'd better heed back tuh the bar and see if those three youngsters have decided on whether they want tuh fight or fuck."

"Then by all means, don't let us detain you," Ariana chuckled. "Both those things should probably be done in a private room."

As the barmaid left, she sat down on the offered chair. "I'm sorry for making you wait, Albus. You would not believe how busy I am these days."

"I might believe it. I've been known to be quite gullible at times," said Albus. "How is Hogwarts these days?"

"Couldn't be better," said Ariana. "Incredible how busy I get, though. Sometimes I don't even know why I chose an academic career. Always more work, never a free moment."

Albus smiled. "If there is anything I have learned from years of listening to you complaining about your job, it's that the Headmistress of Hogwarts is never truly free," he said. "But there is anything I've learned from years of being your brother, it's that you wouldn't want it any other way."

"You know me too well," she admitted.

"And your coven?" Albus went on. "It's been a long time since I've seen… any of them."

The hesitation wasn't lost on Ariana. "The coven is doing fine," she said. "Elphinstone and Minerva send their greetings. As for Abby…" She sighed. "I'm sorry, Albus, but she still doesn't want to talk to you."

"No, I didn't think she would." Albus sighed as well. "I could always tell that she struggled to accept my lifestyle… to her credit, she did make the honest attempt not to judge after I came out, even after she realised I wouldn't be starting any covens anytime soon. But then I went ahead and announced my career choice… and she never could forgive me _that."_

"Actually," said Ariana. "That was what I wanted to talk to you about. Your career."

"I have been a private investigator for decades, Ariana," said Albus. "I have heard all your arguments for why I should give that up, and I still haven't changed my mind."

"I just _worry_ about you, Albus," said Ariana. "I feel like I can't open a newspaper without there being some story about how you've caught some deranged murderer…"

"Ah, you know how newspapers like to exaggerate," said Albus lightly. "The life of a private investigator is nowhere near as dangerous as you seem to think. The number of deranged murderers I've faced is surprisingly much lower than the number of lost cats I've reunited with their owners. Besides," he added, looking up at Hagrid. "I always have Hagrid to keep me out of trouble."

"Keep yeh outta trouble!" Hagrid guffawed. "Don' listen ter him, Ariana. Wild Hippogriffs couldn' keep yer brother out o' trouble! An' thank goodness for that," he added. "Can't imagine how much worse off we all woulda bin if Albus Dumbledore stayed outta trouble! Don' worry about him, he's better at handlin' trouble than anyone I've ever known."

"Still," said Ariana. She turned back to look at Albus. "I would feel a lot calmer if you would reconsider becoming a teacher. I need a new Head of Merlin for next year, and if you wanted the job —"

"What?" Hagrid exclaimed. "Ol' Flitwick's leavin'? But he can't be retirin' age yet, he's barely a hundred years old!"

"I'm afraid some busybody at the Ministry found out about his heritage," said Ariana. "I wouldn't have been able to protect him if the Board of Governors decided that they didn't want him teaching their children anymore… so we agreed that it was better that he withdrew quietly… oh, Hagrid, it's all right."

Because Hagrid had pulled an enormous handkerchief out of one of his pockets and was blowing his nose loudly. "That's a cryin' shame," he said. "Flitwick was the bes' teacher I ever had. I wasn' ever much good at school, but Flitwick was good at explainin' so a poor bloke _unnerstood."_

"He will be missed," said Ariana solemnly. "But my offer stands, Albus. I think you would make a good Head of Merlin — and a good Defence teacher. Even Abby thinks so. If you were to take the job, I'm certain she would talk to you again."

Albus sighed. "I know you mean well, Ariana. But I chose my life a long time ago. I neither can nor will abandon it. Besides, if the Board of Governors can't accept Filius Flitwick, capital fellow that he is, what would they say about having someone like _me_ teach their children?"

"You let _me_ worry about that," said Ariana firmly. "If they have a problem, I can simply point to your list of merits… they should speak for themselves."

"And they would speak against me," said Albus. "As I know the Board of Governors, they are a rather traditionalist lot… and alas, I am far from traditional. Besides, I am not sure I would have made a very good teacher."

"I, however, am certain that you would make a _great_ teacher," said Ariana. "If you had been a woman, _you_ would have been Headmistress at Hogwarts by now."

"And if I had been a wood nymph, no doubt I would have made an excellent Keeper of the Forest," said Albus. "But since I'm neither woman nor nymph, I think I'm better served focusing on the career I _did_ choose. No," he added, gently but firmly, "I thank you for your offer, my dearest sister, but I must decline. I made a promise, seven years ago, to keep an eye on young Holly. Which I can't do if I'm busy teaching at Hogwarts."

"Holly? Oh, of course. Holly _Potter,_ of the Evans line." Ariana nodded. "The famous Impossible Child, or is it _'the Girl Who Lived'_ they're calling her these days?"

"I think _'Impossible Child'_ is slightly more popular," said Albus. "Though depressingly many still refer to as _'that poor girl who had to go live with Muggles because her mother was too selfish to join a coven._ ' A bit of a mouthful, and not quite fair to poor Lily, but…"

"There is some truth to it," said Ariana. "You can't pretend that the child wouldn't have been better off if Lily Potter of the Evans line had consented to share her man. James Potter was a popular boy, as I remember… rich and handsome. He could have had as large a coven as he wanted."

"There is nothing to say that any other wives James Potter had would not also have perished when he and Lily did. In fact, I fear that is exactly what would have happened."

"Not necessarily," said Ariana. "If they had a coven, they would have had an elf to protect them."

"They would," Albus agreed. "Though in this case I wonder if this would have been enough. You weren't there when it happened, Ariana, but I was. Riddle was on a rampage, he would have killed anyone he encountered. That final confrontation between him and Lily... I barely had time to get young Holly out of the house before the final explosion. If there had been anyone else alive there at the time, I'm not certain I could have saved them."

"But you saved the child," said Ariana. "Only to dump her off on her Muggle relatives."

"It was Lily's wish. The will she set up was quite clear that Holly should go to her Muggle sister."

"Dunno what she was thinkin', mind," said Hagrid. "That sister an' her husband. Nasty folks. Not treatin' the girl right at all."

Ariana took a slow sip of her tea and chose a macaroon while thinking of what to say next. "They're not _beating_ her, are they?" she finally said. "I remember those Muggle books you used to read when we were young, Albus…"

"Thankfully, Muggle treatment of children has generally improved since the days of _Nicholas Nickleby,"_ said Albus. "No, her aunt and uncle have never so much as raised a hand to her. With due lack of modesty, I would have known instantly if they had. Still… I do not think she is getting the love and attention a young child needs."

"We never shoulda left the girl with them, hang what that will said," Hagrid grumbled. "I know Lily wanted ter bury the hatchet with her sister an' all, bu' some folks are jus' _lost causes."_

"Perhaps so," said Albus. "But I can all too well understand Lily's desire to reconcile with an estranged sister." His tone turned slightly wistful; he was probably thinking about Abby. "I think Lily's hope was that Petunia would overcome her own feelings about us and our world, and take Holly in as her own. Unfortunately, this didn't happen. Petunia took the girl, but she resents her. And she has taught her husband and son to resent her as well."

"But if this is the case, Albus," said Ariana, "why is the child still with those people? Why haven't you —?"

"Why haven't I taken her from them?" Albus shook his head. "I have been tempted. But the problem is that such a thing is called 'kidnapping.' Her aunt and uncle are her legal guardians, in our world _and_ theirs, and I'm merely a concerned friend of her deceased parents. I have no authority in this, no matter how you look at it. And if I'm to be honest, and honesty _is_ supposed to be a virtue… I'm already skirting the limits of the legal with being as involved in the case as I am."

"If I remember correctly, Albus, you have never been one to care what the Ministry wanted," said Ariana dryly. "Or did you have a number of wives hidden somewhere, and simply never got around to introducing me to them?"

Albus chuckled. "Me, in a coven? Now, that is a dreadful thought." Then he grew serious. "Truth be told, I'm not afraid for myself, but of making the situation worse for the poor girl. For now, Hagrid and I have had to content ourselves by watching over her and making certain she's safe. It did mean moving from London to Surrey, but luckily even Surrey can use a private investigator every now and again."

"You've appointed yourself her guardian, have you?"

"Guardian is a strong word. But I made a promise to her mother. I think you will like her when you meet her," Albus went on. "People might call her 'the Impossible Child,' but I find her to be quite a delightful one."

"She's a good 'un," Hagrid agreed.

"I'll look forward to having her at Hogwarts in a couple of years, then," said Ariana. "Isn't she nine already?"

"Eight," Albus corrected. "Or rather, she will be eight this July. To be honest, Ariana, I am concerned for her. There are too many people out there who would exploit her, people she is too young to defend herself against, and which her relatives either couldn't or wouldn't defend her against. There have been incidents… And then there is of course Tom Riddle."

Ariana frowned. "You _still_ think he is alive, then?" she said. "Nobody has seen or heard anything of him for seven years. He's been declared officially dead."

"I don' care about the official part of it," said Hagrid darkly. "I know that bloody bastard. They didn' call him _'The Man Who Couldn' Die'_ fer nothing. I was there that time when Albus fought him. Saw with me own eyes how yer brother _chopped the man's head off_ with Gryffindor's Sword. Yeh know what Riddle did?"

"I have heard the story," said Ariana, without much hope that this would dissuade Hagrid from telling it again.

True enough, it didn't. "He didn' even fall down! His headless body calmly walked over to his head, picked it up, an' then put it back on! Like it was a _hat_ or somethin'! An' then he went straight back ter hurlin' curses! Someone who can do that, they don' jus' keel over an' die," Hagrid finished with a certain grim satisfaction. "Nah, he's still out there somewhere, tryin' ter regain his power!"

"I'm afraid Hagrid is right," said Albus. "The question is not _if_ , but _when,_ he builds up enough strength to go after Holly." Then he suddenly smiled. "So, as you see, with one thing and another, it's quite impossible for me to accept your generous offer of a job."

"And when Holly _is_ of Hogwarts age?" Ariana inquired. "That's only three years away. Will you change your mind then?"

"By then you will already have hired a new Head of Merlin," said Albus. "It wouldn't do for me to steal the poor fellow's job after he's only had it for a couple of years. Besides, at Hogwarts, she will have protections even I can't provide. Tom Riddle will never get past Argyra and her daughters."

"And what about those who would exploit the child, as you say?" Ariana looked at him.

"Oh, I have every confidence in your ability to deal with them, at least until Holly can do it herself," said Albus cheerfully. "At the very least, I know you will not allow anyone to lure her into joining a coven before she is old enough."

"I will at least do my very best," said Ariana. "Mind you, I doubt I could stop her from doing a bit of experimenting with her schoolmates as she grows older. But that's only to be expected." A slightly mischievous smile appeared on her lips, as if she was either planning or remembering something vaguely naughty, but very funny. "I haven't _quite_ forgotten what it was like to be a young witch… even if the students would probably never believe that."

"I wouldn't ask you to isolate her," said Albus. "Quite the contrary, she will need friends and allies among her peers. If this should lead to her joining a coven sometime in the future, then that will be her decision. Just so long as she doesn't have to make the decision before she is ready for it."

"Oh, I agree there," Ariana nodded. "I think there are some things I could do to help the girl. It would take some time to get everything organised, but we have three years until…" And then, all of a sudden, she laughed. "Albus, you are an incorrigible rogue."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Albus; a statement which, whenever it's said, is usually a lie.

"I daresay you do! Here I arrive, all set on convincing you to give up that private investigator job of yours and come work at Hogwarts, and now you have me talking only about Holly Potter of the Evans line, and how to help her."

"That does sound like a much worthier conversation topic to me," said Albus. "As a teacher, you have often said that children are the future."

"Of course."

"Well," said Albus. "Holly Potter may be a vital deciding factor when it comes to what _kind_ of future we will have."


	2. The Runaway Lawnmower

**CHAPTER 2: The Runaway Lawnmower**

* * *

"Mum!" Dudley cried. "Mum, come look! Look who's trying to break into the cupboard again!"

Holly gave a huge start and let go of the padlock, which smacked against the cupboard door. The key fell out of her hand and landed soundlessly on the carpet.

Because there in the doorway, glowering at her with the rage and fury of an avenging angel having spotted a particularly nasty sinner, was Aunt Petunia.

 _"HOLLY POTTER!"_ she screeched, her voice even more shrill than usual.

"I can explain —" Holly began, and knew that she couldn't. Why had she ever listened to Dudley in the first place?

Aunt Petunia grabbed her hard by the shoulders and pulled her away from the cupboard door. "You little _sneak!_ How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want you snooping around that cupboard?! And now I find you've _stolen_ the key to it?!"

"I — that is, I was just —" Holly tried.

"Look at me!" Aunt Petunia shook her. Not very hard, but hard enough that it was uncomfortable. _"There is nothing in that cupboard that has anything to do with you!"_ she said firmly. "Understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia!"

"Say it."

"Th-there is nothing in that cupboard that has anything to do with me!"

"Good." Aunt Petunia let go. Before Holly could do anything, she crouched down and snatched the key from the floor. "I'll just take this and find a better hiding place for it."

Holly cringed on the inside when she saw the key vanish down into Aunt Petunia's pocket. She had been so close — _so close_ to finally getting into the cupboard under the stairs.

"I _told_ her you didn't want her near the cupboard," said Dudley sanctimoniously. "I _warned_ her that unless she backed off and put the key back, I'd tell you. But she never listens to me! I had to call for you!"

"And it was the right thing to do, poppet!" Aunt Petunia turned around and gave him a hug. Her tone always changed so completely when she spoke to Dudley that it was like hearing a different woman. "I am _so_ _proud_ of you. Whatever would I do without you keeping an eye on that cousin of yours?"

Holly looked away, so she wouldn't see Dudley's smug face. That traitor. _He'd_ been the one who'd stolen the key from Aunt Petunia's dresser, and who had given it to Holly. _He'd_ been the one who had encouraged her, downright _dared_ her to open the cupboard.

"Bet there's treasure in there!" he'd said. "Gold and diamonds! Go on, I'll stand guard!"

And like an idiot, she'd taken the bait. She'd thought he'd actually decided to be nice to her for once. She really should have known that it was only another one of his plans to get her into trouble with Aunt Petunia.

But the thought of _finally_ getting to see what was inside the cupboard under the stairs had overridden her common sense for a while.

For as long as Holly Potter could remember, she had been… _drawn_ to the cupboard under the stairs. Like there was some strange connection between her and it that she couldn't quite understand.

On the surface, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the cupboard. It looked like a completely normal storage cupboard of the kind you found in all the houses of Privet Drive; the kind of cupboard where people stored umbrellas and winter shoes and things like that.

But Holly had always known there was more to the cupboard than met the eye. Not _just_ because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were so desperate to keep her away from it that they kept it locked at all times, with a big and heavy padlock, and forbade her and Dudley from even going near it… although that _was_ a pretty big clue in and of itself.

No… Holly just _knew_ it, deep in her soul, that there was something very special about that cupboard. Something that, despite what Aunt Petunia said, _very much_ had to do with her. She had no idea what it was. But she knew, as surely as she knew that sickness was bad and water was wet, that beyond that padlocked door was something wonderful. Something that would change her entire life if she just found out what it was.

But it didn't look like her life would change today.

Aunt Petunia had finished fawning over Dudley and turned back towards Holly. Her face was hard and sharp again; not a drop left of the sweetness and love she'd so generously poured over her son.

"As for _you,"_ she said. "You just wait until Vernon gets home. For now, you march out in the garden and mow the lawn! That should keep you out of mischief!"

"But…!" For a moment, Holly considered telling Aunt Petunia that Dudley had been the one to steal the key, but she decided against it. Aunt Petunia wouldn't believe a word of it anyway. She instead cast a glance towards the window, where heavy raindrops were still rushing down. "Aunt Petunia, it's raining!" she said. "I can't mow the lawn in the rain!"

"You should have thought of that before you decided to get into steal that key," said Aunt Petunia mercilessly. "And if I catch you so much as _looking_ at that cupboard again, or if you try any more _funny business,_ I'll tan your hide but good. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia, but..."

"I don't want to hear it!"

"But can't I mow the lawn later, when it isn't raining?" Holly pleaded.

"Listen here, young lady!" Aunt Petunia hissed. "Either you put on your raincoat right now and go out in the garden to mow the lawn, or I lock you out in the garden _without_ your raincoat. The choice is yours!"

Holly gave up and reluctantly went to grab her raincoat from the hanger on the wall. That last threat had seemed real in a way that the two others had not.

The threat of a spanking was nothing. Aunt Petunia was always threatening to give Holly a good spanking, but she never actually _did_ it. It was always 'next time I'll do it, see if I don't,' but so far 'next time' had never come.

As for waiting until Vernon got home… Holly knew exactly how that would go. Uncle Vernon would turn red in the face and shout at her for a few minutes, and then he'd send her to bed without supper. Holly was used to this, and had long since made certain to keep a secret stash of snacks in her room, "liberated" from the kitchen, or secretly bought for money she had earned by running errands for Mr-Dumbledore-Across-the-Street. Biscuits, raisins, cereal bars, chocolates. Not a full substitute for a complete dinner, but it was food that kept for a while, was easy to hide, and was infinitely better than having to go to sleep on an empty stomach.

But being kicked out into the rain without a raincoat? That sounded a little too much like something her aunt actually _would_ do to her.

"And don't you dare come back in before you're done!" said Aunt Petunia. And then, like a regular Doctor-Jekyll-and-Mrs-Hyde, she was all smiles and sweetness again when she spoke to Dudley: "Come on, Dudders, I think you deserve a little reward. Let's see if there's any of that cake left…"

It was the same as always, Holly thought as she slipped on her raincoat and walked up to the garden door. Dudley could do no wrong in Aunt Petunia's eyes; no matter what he said or did he got praise and rewards. While Holly got scoldings and extra chores.

But of course, Dudley was her son, while Holly was only her niece — a miserable orphan that she and Uncle Vernon had been forced to take care of after her irresponsible, good-for-nothing parents had got themselves killed in a car crash.

Which was why Holly Potter had, for almost seven years now, lived with the Dursley family, here at Number Four, Privet Drive. It was a perfectly normal house in a perfectly normal street on the outskirts of a perfectly normal town called Little Whinging, Surrey. The only thing about Number Four that wasn't perfectly normal (at least according to Aunt Petunia) was Holly herself, and this was all down to her deadbeat, good-for-nothing parents.

Holly had heard the story a thousand times. She'd only been a year old when her parents died in a car crash, and so of course Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had done their _Duty_ (Aunt Petunia always pronounced the word with a capital D) and taken her in, even though they already had a son, and had treated her much better than she deserved.

They'd made sure she had enough to eat… when she wasn't being punished for something and had to go hungry to bed, while Dudley ate her portion. They'd seen to it that she had proper clothes… bought second-hand at thrift shops and flea-markets, while Dudley got the newest and most expensive clothes. They'd given her her own room… which doubled as a storage room for Dudley's broken toys.

All the while telling her how much they were sacrificing for her and how ungrateful she was.

The rain was pouring down from the sky, and her boots made wet sloshing sounds against the soaked grass as she trudged through the garden, over to the shed where the lawnmower was kept.

She stopped very briefly outside the shed, having caught the sight of her own faded reflection in the window.

She was a miserable sight. Nearly eight years old, but she looked younger with her tiny frame, her much-too-big raincoat, her bright pink skirt, and her huge round glasses, which were threatening to fog up because of the rain.

There was really really only one thing she _liked_ about her appearance, and that was her hair. It was long, silky and coal-black, and somehow it nearly always looked good. Other girls she knew, particularly older ones, sometimes complained about "bad hair days," but Holly never had one of those. Even if she neglected to wash or brush her hair for days at a time, it still looked great and was very easy to manage. Usually she kept it in two long braids, because that felt more practical and she liked the look. (She knew she'd inherited the hair from her father; about the only thing she knew about her father was that he had black hair... since none of the Dursleys had black hair, that just made Holly appreciate it even more.)

There was another thing she kind of liked about her appearance too, but it wasn't really something she could show people: On her stomach, just above her belly-button, she had a scar.

Not a normal, boring, everyday scar from an operation or something, like the appendix scar Mindy Robertson at school would brag about. No, this was a _cool_ scar. It was shaped _exactly_ like a bolt of lightning, and according to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon she'd got it in the very same car crash that killed her parents. A sign of how lucky she was, they'd said; whatever shrapnel of glass shard had hit her _should_ have cut her open and killed her. Or at least left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. But she'd escaped only with that small scar.

Sometimes, late at night, she'd let her fingers trace the scar and try to think back, if she could remember anything from the crash; the sounds, the confusion, the pain she must have felt... but she never remembered a single thing.

At this point, though, Holly had to stop trying to look at herself in the window because now the raindrops were running down the _inside_ of her glasses. She took them off and tried to wipe them on her shirt underneath her raincoat, but that only turned out to make things even more foggy. In the end, she gave up and slipped the glasses into her raincoat pocket. She wasn't blind, after all, she could manage to get around without her glasses even if details were a little blurry.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of just crawling into the shed and waiting out the rain instead of starting the hopeless task of mowing the lawn while it was still pouring, but she decided against it. Aunt Petunia would probably look out every now and again to make certain she was actually working.

The lawnmower had of course been stowed away behind rakes and brooms and shovels, but after a few minutes' hard work, Holly managed to haul it out into the rain. It was a rather big and clunky reel mower that Uncle Vernon had bought a few years ago because he'd heard that manual lawnmowers were healthier for the grass than motorised ones. And if they demanded a bit of extra labour, that wasn't his problem; _he_ wasn't going to mow the lawn when he had Holly to do it for him.

Holly dragged the lawnmower along to the end of the garden, and then set out to mowing.

She hadn't thought the job would be pleasant, but it turned out to be impossible. The rain was pouring down even harder, and the lawnmower was uncooperative on the wet grass, which clumped and clogged up the blades, causing the lawnmower to either stop completely, or suddenly lock up its wheel and slide forward and Holly to slip and nearly fall.

She really did try her best. She clenched her teeth and pushed on, stopping three times to pull clogged wet grass off the rotary, all the while the rain was coming down like someone up there had decided to unleash an entire year's worth of rain in one single afternoon.

Then, for the fourth time, the lawnmower stopped and the rotary refused to spin. The uncooperative device suddenly slid on the grass, and so did Holly; for a split second she was thrusting her arms out and trying to regain her balance, the next she was lying flat on her stomach in the wet grass. The rain pouring over her and the grass soaking her skirt and her underwear, which clung to her skin in the most uncomfortable way…

And then.

She had no idea how it had happened. Something inside her just felt like it exploded; something hot inside her chest that burst out through her body. It felt almost like being on fire… but weirdly, not in a bad way.

The lawnmower suddenly sprang to life. It began moving on its own, and moving fast. The rotary was suddenly free and spinning again, and the lawnmower raced down the lawn, cutting the wet grass like it was nothing.

Holly sat up on her knees and watched in astonishment. The lawnmower was speeding up and down the lawn, all on its own, leaving strips of perfectly-mowed grass in its wake. It was like it had suddenly decided to become the world's most effective automatic lawnmower; wet grass and pouring rain be damned.

The feeling of being on fire faded, and the lawnmower slowed down, stopping over by the shed; just a couple of feet shy of having mowed the entire lawn. The entire thing had taken perhaps half a minute.

Holly stared. She fished her still-wet glasses back out of her pocket (luckily they hadn't broken in the fall!) and placed them back onto her nose, just in case this would reveal that she had somehow mis-seen what had happened the last thirty seconds.

But then, someone was grabbing her by the arm and hauling her up to her feet. She turned to stare into the face of Aunt Petunia, who in the pouring rain looked pale as a sheet and looking like she didn't know whether she should explode in anger or run away in terror.

 _"What,"_ she demanded in a high-pitched and shaky voice, _"did you just do?"_

"Nothing!" Holly said, which was certainly true.

Aunt Petunia let out a small choked noise of what sounded like indignation before she hauled Holly off the ground and dragged her inside. She was so upset and angry that she didn't even care that they were both tracking in mud and wet grass clippings onto the floor, not to mention dripping rainwater everywhere.

Dudley was standing there with cake-crumbs on his shirt and an astonished expression on his face. Clearly seeing his mother this careless with the nice clean floor was a bit upsetting. "Mum!" he said. "What's going on?"

"Dudley." Aunt Petunia was breathing heavily. She was still holding Holly's arm in a firm grip. "Go to your room! I want to have a _talk_ with your cousin!"

"But Mum," Dudley protested. "I want —"

"Go to your room _now,"_ Aunt Petunia snapped, with a harshness she usually never displayed to her son, "or I _won't_ buy you that video game you wanted!"

Whether it was the threat or the tone of voice that convinced Dudley that she meant business, was hard to say. But Dudley did get the message, because he was out of the room in a flash, leaving only a few cake-crumbs on the floor as they heard his hurried steps up the stairs.

"Aunt Petunia," said Holly, trying to wiggle out of her aunt's grip. "I didn't do anything! The lawnmower did it all by itself!" Even in her confusion, she could hear just how stupid this sounded.

Aunt Petunia clearly thought so too. "Don't you lie to me!" she snapped. "You did that on purpose!"

"I didn't!" Holly tried again. "I don't know what happened! I fell over, and the lawnmower started moving on its own! It was like magic!"

If Aunt Petunia had been pale before, she now became white as a piece of chalk. _"There is no such thing as magic!"_ she hissed. Then, she took Holly by the raincoat and pulled her backwards, towards the couch. "I warned you what I would do if you got up to anything, didn't I?!"

"What? _No!"_ Holly gasped when she realised what was about to happen. This was _wrong_ ; Aunt Petunia was just supposed to _threaten_ with a spanking, not to actually _do_ it. "Please, Aunt Petunia, I didn't — _ah!"_

Aunt Petunia tore off her raincoat and flung it aside with an uncharacteristic lack of concern about keeping the floor tidy. Holly struggled to escape, but Aunt Petunia was stronger than her. Though she fought and wriggled and bucked all she could, she found herself pulled down over her aunt's knee, with her wet, grass-stained skirt pulled up over her head. She yelped a protest of fear and embarrassment as her soaking-wet underpants were yanked down to her ankles, but no amount of struggling seemed to help.

"I should have done this years ago!" Aunt Petunia raised her hand to lay down the first smack on Holly's bare bottom.

The doorbell rang.

Aunt Petunia froze. Her hand stopped in mid-air before the first swat could land.

The doorbell rang again, now accompanied by a polite, but insistent knock.

Finally, with a sound that might have been frustration, Aunt Petunia moved. She pulled Holly back up to her feet, letting her skirt fall down and cover her up again. Then she stood up and gave Holly an angry look. "Stay there! Don't you _dare_ move a muscle!" she ordered, before hurrying out to the hallway to answer the door.

Holly stood, stiff as a pole. Her knickers were lying in a soggy heap around her ankles, but she didn't dare move to pull them back up. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest after the narrow, if temporary, escape.

She heard her aunt open the door, and then a familiar, friendly-sounding voice sounded: "Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley! Always a pleasure!"

"Oh." Aunt Petunia sounded anything but pleased. "How do you do, Mr Dumbledore."

Holly couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Mr Dumbledore was one their nearest, and certainly friendliest, neighbours; a kindly man who lived at Number-Seven-Across-The-Street with his housemate Hagrid, and who unlike most of the inhabitants of Privet Drive, always had a smile and a friendly word for Holly.

"Dreadful weather we're having, isn't it?" said Mr Dumbledore. "Speaking of which, you look quite soaked. Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, thank you." Holly could hear Aunt Petunia's voice raise slightly in pitch, as it always did when other adults asked her questions she really didn't want to answer. "What can I do for you, Mr Dumbledore?"

"Oh, I just stopped by on my way home to return the book I borrowed from your husband last week," said Mr Dumbledore.

 _"Nicholas Nickleby?"_ Aunt Petunia had clearly accepted the book from him; she sounded somewhat taken aback with the idea that Uncle Vernon would ever have lent a book to Mr Dumbledore.

""Quite an interesting read," said Mr Dumbledore. "Charles Dickens was a masterful storyteller. Though the way he describes the abuse heaped on children certainly makes you glad that we have child protection laws in this day and age."

"Yes." Aunt Petunia somehow managed to keep her voice under control. "If you'll excuse me, Mr Dumbledore, I'm in the middle of something."

"Oh, please, don't let me intrude," said Mr Dumbledore cheerfully. "I just wanted to deliver the book. Do give your husband my regards, Oh, and say hello to the children as well. I do hope they aren't outside in this rain… it would be a shame if they caught a cold, now that summer is here."

"Indeed, Mr Dumbledore." It was all too easy to imagine the frozen, insincere smile on Aunt Petunia's face.

The door clicked shut.

Moments later, Aunt Petunia came back into the living room, carrying an old copy of Nicholas Nickleby and looking rather taken aback. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten that Holly was there; at least when she lay eyes on the girl still standing there with her knickers around her ankles, she gave a slight start. But then she was glaring at her with the old familiar resentment. "Don't just stand there, you stupid girl," she snapped. "Go to your room and get out of those wet clothes! _Now!"_

Holly tried to hide her relief at having escaped the spanking. Quick as she could, she pulled her knickers back up and set out for the stairs and her room before Aunt Petunia could change her mind.

"And stay in your room for the rest of the day!" Aunt Petunia called after her. "I don't want to see you downstairs at all until tomorrow, is that clear?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia!" Holly called back. All in all, she'd been lucky. It did mean no dinner, but she'd just have to dig into her secret food stash a little.

Besides, being confined to her room was just what she needed right now. She certainly had a lot to think about.

What _had_ happened with that lawnmower? And why had she felt so weird when it happened?

* * *

That evening, Holly was sitting in her nightdress (a much-too-big pink one that was really made for a twelve-year-old, but had been half-price at the shop), halfway down the stairs. She knew from years of experience that this was a perfect place for catching the voices from the living room. Of course she also knew that it wasn't nice to listen in on other people's conversations… but then, how else would she ever get to know anything, especially when the other people were talking about _her?_

Because while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon usually liked to pretend she wasn't there whenever they weren't yelling at her, or telling her how ungrateful she was, or giving her extra chores, now they were definitely talking about her.

They were trying to talk in hushed voices, but this was not Uncle Vernon's strong suit. His voice was naturally loud, and would frequently raise to a shout whenever he got excited or angry… which he very often did. (Holly knew that he was the director of a firm called Grunnings, and that his job mainly consisted of yelling at people, so it was probably a habit at this point.)

So she had no problem hearing him, even as he tried keeping his voice down, when exclaiming: " — but I never lent that ruddy poofter any books!"

"Of course you didn't, Vernon, but that's not the point!" Aunt Petunia's voice was harder to make out, but Holly had sharp hearing and didn't have too many problems. "He _knew!_ I was finally going to give the girl the spanking she's had coming to her for years… and he knew! Why else would he have talked about child abuse?"

"What's the world coming to, when honest, decent people can't discipline their children how they see fit, without _those_ kinds of people poking their noses into everything!" Uncle Vernon grouched. "I knew that man was going to be trouble the moment I laid eyes on him! The neighbourhood has gone completely to the dogs since he and that big, hairy fairy of his moved in! And it's _all down to that ruddy girl!_ She's the only reason they're even here!"

Holly frowned in indignation. She was used to Uncle Vernon blaming her for things that weren't her fault, but it seemed pretty unfair of him to blame her for Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid moving to Privet Drive. They'd lived at Number Seven for as long as she could remember, anyway.

Uncle Vernon's tone did soften a little as he went on: "And you're certain that you saw…?"

"The lawnmower was moving on its own! The girl denied having anything to do with it, but of course it was her! And it was only _just_ after she'd tried to break into the cupboard again, too!"

"Petunia," said Uncle Vernon firmly. "You know I will support you in everything, and I never said a word when we had to take in your sister's brat, but I am putting my foot down here and now. If this continues, she is _out!"_

"I don't like it any more than you do," Aunt Petunia protested. "But we can't just get _rid_ of her! What would the neighbours say? No — if we can just keep her from the cupboard, we still have a chance that it'll go away… there's still a chance she won't turn into one of those… those _lesbian freaks!"_

Now, Holly blinked, leaning against the railway. Aunt Petunia's voice had been going softer and harder to make out, but she could have _sworn_ her aunt had said _'lesbian freaks.'_

"Open your eyes, Pet! She's been one of those freaks since the day she was born," Uncle Vernon shouted. "No matter what we do, she's going to grow up to become one of them! The lawnmower just confirms it! And," he added as he thought of another argument, "have you thought about Dudley in all this? What might she do to _him?"_

"Perhaps we could… move her into the shed," said Aunt Petunia helplessly. "If we cleared out the gardening tools, we could move her bed in there, and she'd be away from Dudley…. And we could put some extra padlocks on the cupboard, to keep her from breaking in..."

"And that's another thing!" Uncle Vernon was clearly getting worked up. "I'm sick of keeping that… that _thing_ in our cupboard! It's _calling out_ to her somehow! She's not going to give up until she gets her grabby little hands on it! I say we make one more attempt to get rid of it!"

 _"No!"_ Aunt Petunia shrieked, and then got control over her voice again. "No, Vernon. You know it won't do any good. We can't destroy it, and we can't throw it away. Remember? Even that time we tried to throw it into the sea, it came back! It was only lucky the girl was too young at the time to know what was going on... if something like that happened _now_ , when she's old enough to understand... _no._ The thing stays in the cupboard. It's the only way to keep it away from her."

Uncle Vernon made a noise like _"harrumph,"_ but he didn't protest. Instead, after a long pause, he said, in a defeated voice: "I'll see about getting another padlock. Or maybe one of those electronic code locks. And perhaps you're right, perhaps it would be an idea to move her into the shed…"

"We wouldn't have to have her in the house as much," said Aunt Petunia. "She could come in for meals or to use the toilet, and to do her chores… and then the rest of the time she'd be out of our hair! If we locked the garden door at night, that would even keep her from sneaking in and trying to get to the cupboard while we were asleep!"

"You're right!" Uncle Vernon seemed to cheer up considerably. "And if we put an electric heater in the shed during the winter, not even that ruddy Dumbledore could complain about child abuse! Children like having their own playhouses, don't they? Even lesbian freak children…"

When Holly slinked back to her bed, she felt more confused than ever.

She wasn't too concerned about the prospect of living in the shed. Sure, the shed was smaller than her current room, but there'd be room for her bed and her dresser, and her few sparse belongings, and she'd get to be by herself a lot more. If she stayed in the shed she could even pretend that she didn't live with the Dursleys at all, but a child living on her own like in the storybooks. It might make her subtle kitchen raids a little more difficult… but she was certain she could manage that.

The rest of her aunt and uncle's conversation had just raised more questions than it answered.

Had Mister Dumbledore _really_ known that Holly was about to be spanked? If so, how could he possibly have known? And what had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon meant by 'lesbian freaks'? She knew about homosexuality, of course; everybody at Privet Drive knew about Mister Dumbledore and Hagrid, and some of the late-night television shows that the Dursleys didn't want to let her watch would occasionally feature women who liked to kiss other women instead of men (an idea which seemed quite sensible to her; boys were gross!) …but nobody had ever said anything about lesbians having the power to make lawnmowers move on their own. And then there was the mysterious talk about the item that was hidden in the cupboard...

As Holly settled down in her bed and closed her eyes to go to sleep, she knew one thing: Even if she was going to get herself into even more trouble doing it, s _he was going to find out what was in the cupboard under the stairs._


	3. An Unexpected Meeting

**A/N:** Sigh. Okay, guys. Let me just make one thing clear: Yes, I am the same D. M. Nealey as the "D_M_Nealey" on AO3, and this is the same "Holly Potter and the Witching World" story that's been up on that site for a couple of months. I would have thought the names gave this away, but apparently not. So: I can assure you that there is absolutely no theft or plagiarism going on here and I am the original author of this story. I'm just cross-posting it to FFN because I was asked to.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3: An Unexpected Meeting**

* * *

The next day was bright and sunny. Uncle Vernon had decided to take the day off work, but not because the weather was nice. No, he'd announced at breakfast that he was going to spend the day clearing out the garden shed in preparation for Holly moving in there.

"Your aunt and I have been talking," he told Holly. "We think — hm! — that it would be good for you to get out of the house a little more."

Holly tried to look surprised at the announcement. It wouldn't do to reveal that she had been listening in on their conversation last night. "Right!" she said. "Getting out of the house and into the garden shed."

Uncle Vernon turned slightly red. "If you only knew how many girls would be grateful to get a garden shed all of their own —" he began in a threatening voice.

"Why can't _I_ have the shed?" Dudley protested. He had never shown any interest in the garden shed before; he tended to view any building without a fridge and a telly as a waste. But if _Holly_ was going to get something, _he_ wanted it. "I could make it into a clubhouse! I could start a secret club with Piers and Malcolm and Gordon and Dennis!"

"Not much of a secret, if you tell us about it first thing you think of it," Holly couldn't resist saying.

Dudley's lower lip immediately started to tremble in an exaggerated way. "Muu-u-uum," he whined. "Holly's being mee-e-e-eean!"

His fake sobbing wouldn't have fooled a two-year-old, but Aunt Petunia was immediately at his side. "Oh, Dudders, don't cry! We won't let that nasty girl be mean to you!" She shot Holly a look of pure loathing, and then she continued: "Just think, when she's out in the shed she won't be able to bother you anymore!"

"She won't bother me if _I_ get the shed," Dudley sniffled.

"Oh, you don't want that filthy old shed," Aunt Petunia cooed. "Tell you what, sweetiekins, when Holly moves out to the shed, we'll turn her bedroom into an extra room for you. We can make it your — your game room, move in the extra television and your video games, and you can play your games as much as you want! Wouldn't that be a lot more fun?"

"I… suppose," Dudley said with the expression of a martyr who has truly suffered. In reality, Holly could tell, he was quite pleased. As soon as Aunt Petunia looked another way he cheerfully stuck his tongue out at Holly, and then he raised himself and plodded off to the living room to watch television.

"Right," said Uncle Vernon, jabbing a finger at Holly. "And I don't want to see _you_ out in the garden while I'm working!"

"Why not?" said Holly, and this time her surprise was real. She'd expected that he'd make _her_ clean out the shed, or at least do most of the work. "Don't you want my help?"

 _"Help?"_ Uncle Vernon repeated. _"No_ thank you! You've done _quite_ enough! I don't want you anywhere near that shed until I've cleared everything out! Oh, and Petunia," he added in an exaggeratedly casual tone. "Perhaps while I'm working, you can take the car and go pick up… those things we talked about yesterday. And if you have the time, maybe you can stop by the garden store and see if they have any good lawnmowers? I've been meaning to get rid of the old one for ages now… who owns a push reel mower these days?"

Holly wasn't as gullible as Uncle Vernon thought. She could certainly guess that 'those things' Aunt Petunia was going to pick up would include a new padlock, or a code lock, for the cupboard. She hadn't failed to notice, either, that the 'old' lawnmower was standing untouched by the shed at the very same spot it had stopped after yesterday's inexplicable events.

As Uncle Vernon went out into the garden, and Dudley settled down by the telly to watch some inane program or other, Aunt Petunia went upstairs to 'fix herself up a little' before her trip into town. Before she set foot on the staircase, though, she turned to give Holly a stern look. "And don't even _think_ about trying to break into the cupboard while I'm gone and Vernon is working! I'm going to take the key to the padlock with me, just so you know!"

Holly's heart sank. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"In fact, why don't you go for a walk. A _long_ one. Vernon's right, you need to get out of the house more."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"But don't go near Number Seven! And if those two — _men_ — have some of their freak visitors over, you're not to talk to any of them, understand?"

Holly thought about this as she put her shoes on and got ready for a walk around the block. Perhaps after Aunt Petunia had left, she could sneak back in and… no. She couldn't open the padlock without the key.

She stepped out onto the porch and looked across the street to Number Seven. It lay completely still, with no sign of either Mr Dumbledore, Hagrid, or any freak visitors, but of course you never _knew…_

Number Seven was sort of the odd house out in Privet Drive, and a constant source of gossip among the neighbours. Oh, the _outside_ the house looked no different from the others. The same two-storey, yellow brick type of house, a with brown-tiled roof and a neat front yard. But the two men who lived there… Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid… they were a different case altogether.

The fact that they were two men living together was only seldom remarked upon. These weren't the stone ages, after all, and a modern and enlightened society had to show some tolerance and accept that not everyone could help how they were born. It was more the fact that they were so _odd._

Aunt Petunia's friend Yvonne had once said that the men at Number Seven lived like _bohemians._ Holly could tell that she hadn't meant it as a compliment.

Perhaps it was because Mr Dumbledore, who was otherwise polite and charming, wore his hair long and had an affinity for dressing like an "old hippie" with colourful and mismatched clothes… or perhaps it was because Hagrid, who had been born with some kind of gigantism and towered over everyone, refused to let anyone call him anything but "Hagrid" and drove a motorbike instead of a car… an oversized, probably custom-made monstrosity with a sidecar, with which he would occasionally "chauffeur" Mr Dumbledore.

And then of course there was the 'freak visitors.'

They'd occasionally show up to visit Number Seven. Most of them were women — women of all kinds, both perfectly normal-looking ones, and some that… looked less normal. Some of them dressed so oddly that it made Mr Dumbledore's dress sense seem conservative by comparison. Holly had seen women dressed up in leather corsets and tight trousers, and girls dressed in tunics that looked like they were stitched together by leaves. Dudley had sworn that one time he'd seen a stark-naked lady who had painted her skin blue enter Number Seven, but Holly didn't believe that part.

 _Hang on._ Holly couldn't believe she hadn't thought of that before. Could the visitors be the 'lesbian freaks' that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had talked about yesterday? They'd certainly fit the description of what the Dursleys would think of as 'freaks.' And maybe they were all lesbians!

Well… If so, Holly wouldn't mind becoming one of them at all. Going around in strange and colourful clothes and visiting Mr Dumbledore sounded a _lot_ more fun than being stuck at the Dursleys, being yelled at by Uncle Vernon, given chores by Aunt Petunia, and teased by Dudley.

Holly pretended to be a lesbian freak as she walked down the driveway, and down the street. She lived like a bohemian, whatever that was, and she walked around all day dressing like an old hippie. No, wait, in feathers. Yes, she would walk openly on the street wearing nothing but a suit of yellow feathers, so that she looked like a giant canary bird. Of course, on second thought yellow feathers might be impractical to wear, maybe they'd tickle… all right, something else then…

She'd at least make sure to wear a lot of outfits that bared her midriff, so that she could show off her scar, she thought. Of course, Aunt Petunia would have a fit about how it wasn't "decent" to go showing your bare bellybutton to people just like that, but Holly was pretty certain that lesbian freaks didn't care if it was decent or not. What was the point of a cool-looking scar if you couldn't show it off sometimes, anyway?

She turned the corner into Magnolia Crescent and crossed it into Magnolia Road. To her relief, the play park was empty today… sometimes there would be other children there, but if they were very young they'd be accompanied by adults who might start asking Holly about her parents, and if they were around Holly's age chances were good they were Dudley's friends. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon, who all nearly worshipped Dudley, never got tired of chasing her whenever they saw her, trying to steal her glasses or pull her pigtails or otherwise try to make her cry. She was usually too quick for them to catch her, but the play park was a lot nicer when they weren't around.

Holly climbed over the fence and into the park. (The gate was open, of course, and she could have just walked in, but it was more fun this way.) She ran up to the swings and sat down on the nearest one, beginning to swing back and forth as her thoughts went back to what she might wear when and if she became a lesbian freak.

She was busy trying to decide whether she should wear a rainbow-coloured poncho with lots of pockets, or just a shocking pink business suit, when she happened to glance in the direction of the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk that instantly made her decide: Yes, something like _that!_

A little girl, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, was just heading towards the shop. She was perhaps Holly's age, thin and wiry, with a mass of freckles, flaming red hair tied up in a rather messy ponytail, and her outfit was very much like that of the infamous lesbian freaks: A dark blue, thigh-length dress, with a yellow shoulder cape, and mismatched striped stockings in green, white and pink. Around her narrow waist was a white belt with a number of leather pouches fastened to it, and the outfit was completed by a pair of heavy black boots that were probably much too big for her unless she had really enormous feet.

Holly didn't know who this girl was, but was absolutely certain she didn't live around here… anyone who dressed like _that_ would have been just as much a source of gossip as Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid. Probably she was one of their visitors or something.

Curiosity burning in her chest, Holly jumped off the swing, sailing several feel through the air before landing on the grass and hurrying over to the fence.

The girl had stopped outside the shop, peering in through the window. She seemed to be looking for something… apparently she found it, because she hurried over to the door, pushing it open and vanishing inside.

Holly waivered a little back and forth on what to do. She knew she was being nosey, and she knew Aunt Petunia had forbidden her from approaching any of Mr Dumbledore's guests… but Aunt Petunia wasn't here. Besides, she didn't know for certain if this girl really _was_ one of Mr Dumbledore's guests.

After a bit of thought, she slid her hand down her skirt pocket. And just as she thought: She still had that two-pound coin left from the last time she had run an errand for Mr Dumbledore. It had been to this very shop, in fact; he'd asked her to buy a packet of chocolate biscuits for him and told her to keep the change.

Well, she had money, so why shouldn't she decide to pay a visit to the shop? Maybe there was something she wanted to buy! She climbed over the fence again to exit the park and then crossed the street towards the shop.

As she peered in through the window, she could see the girl, in the middle of a lively discussion with the cashier.

Holly pushed open the door and entered the shop, just in time to hear her say: "—but they're not fakes, I promise! I got them from my Dad!"

"I didn't say I thought they were fakes," the cashier sighed. She was a young woman Holly didn't know, but who looked rather tired and not in the mood to argue with girls in shoulder capes. "I said I couldn't accept these coins." She handed four shiny silver coins back to the girl. "I don't even know the currency."

"I'm dead certain it's enough for a Mars bar," said the girl. "But I'm in a hurry, have to get back to my family! We're just here to visit someone, you see… Couldn't you just…?"

"Sorry, luv," said the cashier, turning her head to look at Holly. "And how can I help you?"

"Er… just looking," said Holly. "I have money!" she added, a little defensively, as the cashier gave her a suspicious look.

"Wouldn't bother if I were you," said the red-haired girl, who had also turned to look at Holly. "Apparently this shop doesn't _take_ money."

"We take money, we just don't take _foreign_ money," the cashier protested. "You'll have to exchange those for British pounds. What country even _uses_ Sickles as currency?"

The red-haired girl just shook her head so her red ponytail swished from side to side. "Never mind," she said, clutching the four coins in her hand. "I just wanted a Mars bar. I've never actually had one."

"You never had a Mars Bar?" said Holly, surprised.

The girl shook her head again. "My sister Elaine had one last year, and she won't shut up about how good it was, so I just wanted to grab the opportunity while we were here… But, never mind," she repeated with a sigh. "It was a stupid idea anyway. My money's no good and I don't know where to exchange it…"

Holly made up her mind then and there. "Right here!" she said, pulling the two-pound coin out of her skirt pocket. "Not quite sure about the going rate, but I have two pounds here. If you give me two, er, Sickles for it, you'll have enough for _two_ Mars bars!"

"Really?" The girl's blue eyes widened in astonishment. "That'd be great! But… is that all right?" She looked at the cashier, as if afraid she'd be told that this was somehow against the rules.

"As long as you pay me in actual pounds and pence, I don't care," said the cashier dryly.

Less than a minute later, Holly and the girl could walk out of the shop; the girl with two Mars bars and Holly with not two but _three_ silver coins in her skirt pocket.

"I'm going to save these until tonight, and I'm going to share them with all my sisters!" The girl was beaming as she slipped both chocolates down into one of her belt pouches. "At least with Nella and Ginny. Maybe Maryssa and Lydia, if they're good. Oh, and I suppose Fred and George. Elaine only gets a piece if she asks _really_ nicely." She patted the belt pouch with a soft little hand, and then did something completely unexpected: She turned towards Holly and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you so much!" she said.

Holly, who wasn't used to this kind of affectionate thank-you, involuntarily raised her hand to her cheek to touch where the girl had kissed her. "Er… you're welcome," she said. And then, to feel a little less awkward, she asked: "How many sisters do you have, anyway?"

"Eleven," said the girl. It was hard to tell whether or not she considered this a good thing or a bad thing.

 _"Eleven_ …?!" Holly began. She couldn't even imagine having that many sisters. (Or even _one_ sister, instead of just a lousy snitch of a cousin.)

"Yeah, it's a lot, I know," said the girl. "I have seven older sisters, four younger sisters."

Holly opened her mouth to comment on this, but then thought better of it. "You might have some trouble sharing two Mars bars between eleven people," was all she said.

 _"Twelve,"_ said the girl. _"I_ want a piece too. Don't worry, I'll manage, I know how to make sweets last. I'll just split each one into six parts and then — Oh, by the way, I'm Ronnie!" she said, as if suddenly remembering she hadn't introduced herself. "Well, I'm _really_ Veronica, but everybody calls me Ronnie. Ronnie Weasley, of the Prewett line!"

"Hello, Ronnie, I'm Holly," said Holly. "Holly Potter. Of the… Privet Drive."

"Go on! Are you really?!" Ronnie's blue eyes widened in excitement. "My sisters are never going to believe this! I knew you couldn't be a Muggle, of course, but I didn't know you were _you!"_

"Er," said Holly again. This wasn't making any sense at all. "Who would I be if I wasn't me?"

"I don't know! For all I knew, your name could have been… Harriett, or Aurelia, or Rosalind, or something!" Ronnie giggled. "Should have known it was you. Everybody knows you live around here! So, you went off to live with a family of _Muggles!_ What's that like?"

Holly was more confused than ever. This was the second time the other girl had used the word 'Muggle,' and Holly had no idea who that was supposed to be. "I… live with a family called Dursley," she offered. "I don't know anyone named Muggle."

Ronnie shook her head. "No, no, no, _Muggles,"_ she repeated. "You know, people who…" (and here she lowered her voice to a whisper.) _"People who aren't like us."_

"You mean…" Holly wasn't certain how to proceed. She wanted to ask if the girl was a lesbian, but somehow that seemed silly. Especially after that kiss. "You mean… people who _don't_ visit Mr Dumbledore?" she hazarded.

"Exactly!" said Ronnie. "That's why we're here in Little Whinging. Dumbledore's helping my sister Fred with — er — I'm not actually supposed to talk about that." She giggled nervously and turned a little pink.

"Your sister's name is Fred?" said Holly. "Isn't that a boy's name?"

"Yeah, that's… one of the things I'm not supposed to talk about." Ronnie's pink shade turned a little brighter. "Look, you did me a good turn, so I'd like to return the favour. Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't think —" Holly began, but then hesitated. Ronnie seemed really sincere, and once more the thought about the cupboard under the stairs was there. "That is," she said, slowly and without much hope, "I don't think so. Unless you know how to open a padlock without a key."

Unexpectedly, Ronnie laughed. "A padlock?" she repeated. "What, just a normal padlock? That's _easy!"_

"It is?" Holly felt a surge of hope.

Ronnie nodded and leaned in close. "I'm not supposed to talk about these things, at least not out in the open," she said. "But since it's _you_ … my sisters taught me the trick. What you do is you take the padlock, and you blow on it three times."

Holly stared at her. "And then what?"

"And then it'll open! I swear, it works. You just have to _believe_ that it will!"

Holly was about to say that this was nonsense, but Ronnie looked so earnest that she didn't have the heart. Besides… her thoughts went back to the lawnmower incident yesterday. In a world where a lawnmower could decide to move on its own, maybe a padlock could decide to open just because you blew on it? Maybe lesbians _could_ do things like that. If Holly was turning into one _anyway…_

"I suppose I could give it a try," she said.

"It'll work," Ronnie promised. "Come on, I should probably get back to the family…. Er, you know where Dumbledore lives, right? I'm not sure I do."

Holly led the way back to Number Seven. While they walked, she told Ronnie about the cupboard under the stairs, and the feeling that something wonderful was in there, but her aunt and uncle kept pretending that there was nothing there.

Ronnie wholeheartedly agreed that something important had to be in the cupboard, but had no idea what.

"My cousin said he thought it was a treasure," said Holly. "Gold and diamonds. But I'm pretty sure he was making it up."

"You're right there," said Ronnie. "Gold and diamonds don't call out for you to come get them. Well, _gold_ doesn't. I've never actually seen any diamonds, but I don't think they do either." She shook her head, making her red ponytail sweep from side to side. "Nah — whatever is in that cupboard, must be _magic."_

"Magic?" Holly's heart skipped a beat. She still remembered Aunt Petunia's harsh insistence that there was no such thing as magic.

"Yeah, must be, mustn't it?" Ronnie didn't seem to have noticed Holly's reaction; her tone of voice suggested that she took it for granted that everyone knew that magic existed. "Question's just what _kind_ of magic."

Holly was about to ask how many kinds of magic there were, and how she might tell them apart, when they rounded a corner, Number Seven came into view, and she saw the huge number of people gathered by the entrance door.

She could at once see that they had to be Ronnie's family, since most of them had red hair and all of them were wearing the same kind of eccentric clothing as she was… but how _many_ they were! There had to be something like twenty people there, crowding the street outside Number Seven, most of them talking at once. Like almost all of the visitors that came to Number Seven, this crowd was made up of women and girls, though this time Holly could plainly see that there was one man with them; a tall, thin one with glasses and thinning red hair, dressed in a brown tunic-like outfit.

"All right, everyone, let's not panic," he was saying. "Who saw her last?"

"I did!" piped up one of the smaller girls, a tiny redhead wearing the same kind of outfit that Ronnie was, only her dress and shoulder-cape were green instead of blue, and her legs were bare.

"When did you see her, Ginny?" said the man.

"Right now!" said the little girl, whose name was apparently Ginny, and pointed eagerly towards Holly and Ronnie. "She's over there!"

"Oops," said Ronnie. "Isn't that always the way. Nobody notices you when you _are_ there, but when you _aren't_ there, everybody notices."

The family started to call her name. "Ronnie!" — "Ronnie, over here!" — "Veronica Weasley, you get your arse over here right now!"

"Better get back to the family." Ronnie sounded annoyed, embarrassed and pleased all at once. And then, just as unexpectedly as the kiss, she wrapped her arms around Holly and gave her a quick hug. "It was great to meet you! Hey — if I don't see you before we're eleven, would it be all right if I looked for you, you know, on the train?"

Yes!" said Holly, almost automatically. That was the first time she could remember anyone having hugged her. "I mean… what train?"

"The _Hogwarts Express_ , of course!" Ronnie giggled. "I've got to run! Good luck with the padlock!" And with that, she sprinted over to the crowd.

Holly wanted to call after her and ask what the Hogwarts Express was, but decided against it. Something told her she would find out sooner or later. She decided to go back a little way so as not to disturb the family reunion, and cast a last lingering glance at Ronnie, now in the middle of the crowd.

"What _did_ we say about wandering off on your own?" said one of the women.

"Did we say we liked it and wanted me to do it all the time?" came Ronnie's voice, as the last thing Holly heard before she rounded the corner again.

She stopped and leaned against the brick wall, letting out a huge breath. That had, without question, been the _weirdest_ meeting she had ever had with anyone…. But it had definitely also been the _nicest_. Even though Ronnie had been extremely confusing, Holly had liked her very much. And she thought Ronnie had liked her as well. Whatever this Hogwarts Express was, and however Holly was to find it, she couldn't wait to meet the girl again there.

But first… Holly glanced at her watch. It was an old and battered watch that constantly needed to be set, but if it showed the right time, Aunt Petunia had only been gone for slightly less than two hours. Holly knew her family well enough to know that Aunt Petunia wouldn't be back home for at _least_ two more hours, and Dudley would remain in front of the telly, deaf and blind to everything, until she came back home to make lunch. The one wild card in this was Uncle Vernon, but with any luck he'd still be busy with the shed… she'd have to take the chance.

It was time to see if Ronnie's padlock trick worked.


	4. Lily

**CHAPTER 4: Lily**

* * *

Holly took a deep breath. As silently as she could, she opened the door to Number Four, sneaked in and closed the door behind her. Careful, so as not to alert anyone to her presence.

Normally, she would have waited until it was dark and everyone was asleep, but (depending on how fast Uncle Vernon worked) by that time she might find herself in the shed and not be able to get into the house. No… if she was to have any hope of doing this, she had to do it _now._

The car had still been gone when she came back home, so she knew Aunt Petunia was still out. From the living room she could hear dramatic music and vague sounds of gunfire; Dudley must have decided to watch one of his action movies again. She didn't know if Uncle Vernon was out in the garden or not, and she didn't dare to check; then she would have to move to the living room and risk being spotted by Dudley.

For the moment, nobody was calling out for her or asking what she was doing back already; that probably meant they hadn't noticed.

She carefully took her shoes off, so she wouldn't make any noise against the floor as she walked up to the cupboard. Because there, in plain sight, it was. The familiar closed door, the ever-present padlock. Now more than ever she could feel whatever it was inside calling out to her.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. The noises from the telly seemed to fade into the background; all she could hear was her own heartbeat and quickened breath as she reached out and touched the padlock. The metal was cold and heavy in her hand.

She pursed her lips and blew lightly. Once… twice… three times.

Nothing happened.

Holly could have screamed in frustration and disappointment, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't… she _wouldn't_ believe that Ronnie had lied to her. The girl had been completely honest when she talked about the trick. _It'll work,_ Ronnie had said, _long as you believe it will._

All right, another attempt. She closed her eyes and _believed._

Then, without opening her eyes she pursed her lips and blew lightly. Once… twice… and then, just as she was about to blow for the third time, a strange sense of calm filled her. It was a sensation not completely unlike what she had felt just before the lawnmower incident, but this time it was more like a gentle warmth than a burning fire. An absolute certainty. The lock _would_ open for her; anything else was _unnatural_. Like water running upwards or Aunt Petunia's 'famous spice bread' tasting nice.

She blew a third time. There was a slight _click_ in her hand. When she opened her eyes again, she was thrilled but not at all surprised to see that the padlock was open.

The warm sensation faded. Holly quickly cast a glance towards the living room, half-expecting Uncle Vernon to come running to pull her away from the cupboard, but all that happened was that Dudley laughed at something silly on the television.

Her heart started pounding again. She unhooked the padlock from the latch and, taking care not to click it shut, held it in one hand while gingerly opening the door with the other.

And gasped in surprise as she looked into — not a fantastic, magical room, not a treasure chamber filled with gold and diamonds, but a very dusty, very dirty and very _empty_ cupboard. The wall opposite the door held a couple of dusty and empty coat-hangers, which couldn't have been used for years, the wall to her left held three dusty and empty shelves, the ceiling was just the underside of the stairs, covered with dust and cobwebs, and the floor was so dusty that…

Hang on. There was something else on the floor, just by the inner wall. Something small, almost covered in dust. It looked like a long, thin rod or stick of some sort.

Holly entered the cupboard. It was large enough that she could stand upright in it, even wide enough that she could probably lie down flat without problem. Almost absentmindedly, she placed the padlock down on one of the shelves before she crouched down, reached out and picked up the stick from the floor.

Dust fell off it as she held it up to her face, revealing that it was made out of some sort of pale wood, elaborately carved and polished to a smooth finish. It was quite long, longer than her forearm, it had several strange-looking knots on it, and one end was notably thicker than the other. It felt curiously warm in her hand, almost alive in a strange way.

"Hello," said Holly softly to the stick. "So you're what the Dursleys have been hiding in here all these years. Have you really been calling for me all this time? Or did I just imagine it?"

The stick didn't answer, but somehow it didn't feel silly to talk to it. It just felt _right_. Just like it felt _right_ to hold it…

A noise from above made her start. Dust fell down from the stair-ceiling as the stairs began creaking. Years of living with the Dursleys had taught Holly to identify which of the three was currently walking up or down the stairs just by listening to the sound of the footfalls — and those firm, heavy steps were an unmistakable sign that Uncle Vernon was coming down the stairs.

He hadn't been out in the garden, he'd been upstairs!

There was no time to get out of the cupboard. Holly just fell down onto her stomach, grabbed the door and pulled it towards herself, managing to close it just before the footfalls had reached the bottom of the stairs.

The door closed, everything was dark around her. Just a small stream of light came in from the underside of the door. Holly had never been afraid of the dark, but it really did not make the sound of Uncle Vernon's footsteps any less foreboding.

She clutched the funny-looking stick to her chest. _Please,_ she thought. _Please, don't let Uncle Vernon find me here! Please, don't let him notice that the padlock is gone from the latch!_

She held her breath. The small stream of light was disturbed by shadows; Uncle Vernon was walking past the cupboard… he was stopping outside it…

"Dudley?" came his voice from right outside the cupboard.

"Yeah, Dad?" Dudley's voice sounded from the living room, a little annoyed because he never liked to be disturbed in the middle of his telly-watching.

"Your cousin didn't show up while I was upstairs, did she?"

"Nah." Dudley sounded rather uninterested. "I would've heard her if she had."

"Good." Uncle Vernon sounded satisfied. "Keep an ear out for her, son! I have a feeling she'll go for the cupboard again, and if she _does…"_

Holly closed her eyes. This was it. He'd of course seen that the padlock was gone. Any second now, and he would tear the door open and haul her out. And this time there wouldn't be any Mr Dumbledore to conveniently show up and spare her a spanking, because he was having company over and would be too busy…

Then, all of a sudden, the shadows vanished, and the stream of light was whole again. Uncle Vernon had moved away.

"Want a cup of tea, son?" he called. "I'm thinking of having one before I finish cleaning out the shed!"

"No!" Dudley called back. "Don't we have any Coke?"

Moments later, Holly could hear the unmistakable sound of Uncle Vernon, moving about on the kitchen. He was turning on the tap, filling the kettle… and now came the familiar grumblings when he couldn't find the tea bags.

She had to bite her lip to stifle the sound of disbelief that threatened to escape her throat. Uncle Vernon had been standing _right outside_ the cupboard. He had been _talking about_ the cupboard. He had probably been _looking straight at_ the cupboard. And yet he hadn't noticed that the padlock was missing. Her prayers had been answered! She didn't dare exit the cupboard yet, not with Uncle Vernon in the kitchen… but it looked like she was safe for now.

She rolled over onto her back. Her clothes probably looked a sorry state after she'd been lying on this dusty floor, but she didn't care about that just now. Instead, she held the stick up in front of her face. She could barely see it in the dark, of course, but she could let her fingers slide over the smooth wood.

It felt nice to touch.

Once more, a sense of calm and comfort seeped over her. It _did_ feel right to hold the stick in her hand. It filled her with a vaguely pleasant sensation… a sensation that seemed oddly familiar, even if she couldn't remember when she might have felt it before. Maybe it had been back when she was a baby... or maybe in a long-forgotten dream….

She stifled a yawn. All of a sudden, she felt very sleepy. Maybe not too strange; this had certainly been an eventful morning. First the mysterious Ronnie, then the padlock and the cupboard and the stick… But it probably wouldn't be a good idea for her to fall asleep right here in the cupboard.

She'd just wait until Uncle Vernon was out of the kitchen, then she could try to sneak out… oh, and she couldn't forget putting the padlock back. With any luck, maybe nobody would notice that she'd been here… Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never opened this cupboard; that much was obvious. There was no way Aunt Petunia would have allowed so much dust and cobweb to gather otherwise.

She felt her eyes droop. She blinked several times to try and wake herself up. Lying down was probably a bad idea, she should sit up, at least…

She rolled over on her side. Idly toying with the stick….

Yes, the stick…

That was a stupid name for it… _stick_. Not the right word at all… It was more like a… like a… whatever those things were called. She could feel it in her hand, all warm and comforting…

She _knew_ that there was a proper name for these things… she just couldn't remember what it was. Did it begin with a W…? With an M, perhaps…?

…maybe it was something with an L, come to think of it…

Holly felt warm and heavy. Maybe… maybe just rest her eyes a little… not sleep… she wouldn't even take her glasses off… she could never sleep when wearing her glasses…

…yes, that was a good idea… there was no way she was going to…

…she was going to…

…going… to…

By the time Uncle Vernon came back out of the kitchen with tea and Coke, and once again managed to pass by the cupboard without noticing the missing padlock, Holly was sound asleep on the dusty cupboard floor.

* * *

She opened her eyes and looked around.

She had no idea where she was or how she'd got there. Her surroundings looked… _blurry_ , like she was seeing them through a foggy window or something. For a moment, she thought it was because she wasn't wearing her glasses, but things were never this blurry and vague even when she wasn't…

"Holly." A soft, melodious voice caught her attention.

She sat up and turned her head to see a girl sitting next to her. Unlike everything else, this girl wasn't blurry in the slightest. Holly had never seen this girl before, and yet she felt familiar. She was about Holly's age, with kind green eyes and long auburn hair which flowed freely down her back. She was wearing a knee-length dress with a flower pattern and a pair of sandals.

The girl smiled. "Look at you," she said. "My Holly."

"Look at me?" Holly repeated. She looked down herself, and discovered to her surprise that she too was wearing dress with a similar flower pattern. There wasn't anything _particularly_ odd about this, but Holly couldn't remember ever having owned a dress like this, much less put one on. For that matter, she couldn't remember walking into a blurry landscape and lying down.

"I haven't seen you since you were a baby," said the girl. "And look at what a pretty girl you've grown up to be. You look more like your father than I thought you would… you have his hair and his build. You even wear glasses like him. But your eyes… your eyes are mine."

Holly backed away slightly. "You can't have my eyes! I'm still using them!"

The girl laughed. It wasn't a cruel or mocking laugh. "Don't be afraid, Holly! I just meant that your eyes look like mine!" She reached out and took Holly's hand. " I would _never_ hurt you, Holly. My name is Lily, and I'm your mother."

"No, you're not!" Holly yanked her hand away.

"I promise you, I am."

"My mother's dead! And, and, you're no older than me! Did you give birth when you were a baby or something?"

Again, Lily laughed. She had a nice laugh, and she seemed to use it rather a lot. "Of course I'm dead! And of course I didn't give birth as a baby!" she giggled. "I didn't look like this when I died. But I _was_ rather cute when I was your age, don't you think? I remember this pretty dress..." Lily looked down herself and ruffled her dress slightly before looking back at Holly. "I'm not completely sure, but I think I just look like I'm seven years old right now because I'm talking to you, and _you're_ seven years old."

"I'm almost eight!" Holly protested automatically. "And that doesn't make any sense!"

"Sorry, almost eight then," said Lily. "It's all right, Holly, love… you're dreaming. Dreams don't have to make sense! Or rather, they do, but they make sense in a very different way from the waking world."

"Dreaming?" Holly repeated. "You mean I'm asleep?"

"Yes." Lily nodded. "I'm sorry about that. But you'll wake up long before anyone notices that you're hiding in the cupboard, I promise."

The word 'cupboard' triggered a memory. "Oh," said Holly. "I _was_ hiding in the cupboard under the stairs… I was holding the funny-looking stick, and then… then I don't remember…"

"You fell asleep." Lily looked apologetic. "Like I said, I'm sorry, and I promise I won't make a habit out of knocking you out like that… But right now, I _needed_ you to be asleep and dreaming."

"Okay," said Holly, uncertain of what to say about this. "Why?"

"Because I can only talk to you in your dreams." Lily shifted and put her arms around Holly. "And I _had_ to talk to you. It's been so long. For seven years… seven long years… I've been in that cupboard. Calling out to you. Begging for you to come find me. And now you're here. My darling daughter. All grown up..."

Holly felt herself melt into Lily's hug. This was her second hug, and she was finding out she liked hugs. Ronnie's hug had been quick, over in a second. This one lasted longer, and felt different. It felt a lot like Holly had always imagined being hugged by your mother must feel like. Even if said mother didn't look any older than you. She was starting to believe that maybe Lily really _could_ be...

"You were in the cupboard," she said against Lily's soft, auburn hair. "You've been calling for me for as long I can remember…"

"I have," Lily confirmed. She hugged Holly a little tighter. "I missed you _terribly._ I'm so glad to finally be able to talk to you — _really_ talk to you. I _knew_ if I just kept calling, you would find a way to get into the cupboard."

"So, you were that funny-looking stick?!"

Lilly laughed again and let go of Holly, looking at her with cheerful green eyes. "Technically, it's a wand," she said. "And I'm not _literally_ the wand, but my spirit is tied to it. It's like… mmm… you've heard of ghosts haunting houses or castles, right? Well, I'm like a ghost haunting a magic wand."

"A ghost haunting a magic wand," said Holly dubiously. "Is that true?"

"No, but as lies go it's _pretty_ close to the truth," said Lily cheerfully.

"But Aunt Petunia says there's no such thing as magic. Or ghosts."

"Yes, she would say that, wouldn't she…? I don't even know why I'm surprised." Lily sighed. "Poor Tuney, she always was good at denial. I think something broke inside her, back when we were children, and we found out that we really belonged to different worlds…"

"What do you mean?"

"Holly, love, magic is real. It's just very good at hiding from people who don't want to accept it. You _would_ have grown up knowing all about it, except…" Lily hesitated and then said in a firmer voice: "But that's a long story, and we probably don't have time for it right now."

"What story?"

"The… story of how your father and I… of how we died."

Holly pondered. "Aunt Petunia told me you died in a car crash," she said.

"Car crash," Lily scoffed, suddenly offended.

"It wasn't true?"

"Hah! I'd like to see the _car crash_ that could kill your father or me!" Lilly crossed her arms, and then softened again. "No, love… it wasn't a car crash."

"What was it, then? How did you die?" said Holly. When Lily hesitated, she pressed on: "Please! You can't just say that you didn't die in a car crash and then not say how you _did_ die!"

Lily sighed. "I'd have thought your aunt would have told you at least this much, but… we were murdered."

"Murdered?" Holly gasped. "Who murdered you? Why?!"

"It was a man named Tom Riddle," said Lily. "Well, I _say_ he was a man. He was more like a monster, really. One who killed a lot of people and ruined a lot of lives. It happened when you were just a baby. He came to our house, and… he wanted something that we wouldn't give him. We fought him, but he was much stronger than us. First, he… he killed your father… and then…" Her voice faltered. She swallowed, and blinked several times. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can talk about this right now. This was supposed to be a _happy_ meeting. I've missed you so much, and…"

Holly felt bad. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to make you cry! I just — I just don't understand…"

"Sometimes, I'm not sure _I_ understand." Lily had managed to get her voice under control again now, and she placed her hands on Holly's shoulders. "Holly, love… there's so much I should tell you. So much you should know. But I don't really know _how_ much, because... I'm not really up-to-date on your life. Being locked in a cupboard for seven years means you don't really get to take in a whole lot of what's going on outside…"

"I'm sorry," Holly repeated. "I didn't know you were in there. I should have…"

"You came as soon as you could," said Lily. "Besides, it wasn't as terrible as it sounds. Being a spirit possessing a wand… it's not like being a human. You don't really get hungry or thirsty or bored or anything like that."

"But you get lonely, don't you?" said Holly.

Lily sighed. "Yes," she admitted. "You do get lonely."

"I'm —"

"Stop apologising, love. It's all right. You have the wand now. Where it goes, I go. I'll be with you as long as you carry the wand… and you have every right to do that. It's _your_ wand now."

"Mine?" said Holly. She had felt an unmistakable connection to the sti— the _wand,_ it was true, but…

Lily nodded. "It used to belong to me, back when I was alive. And you're my daughter, so it's yours by birthright. Didn't you feel it, when you picked it up?"

"I…" Holly paused, remembering. "It felt like it was right. Like the stick — the _wand,_ like it belonged to me. No, more than that. Like it was a part of me. Like… like there had been an emptiness inside me that I never knew about, which filled up when I held…" she trailed off, feeling silly.

But Lily didn't seem to think it was silly. Now she was all smiles again, speaking in an eager voice. "See? II told you, it's _your_ wand! You and it belong together!"

For a moment, Holly felt slightly overwhelmed. She had a magic wand. "Can I…. can I use it for anything?"

"You can use it for practically _everything,"_ said Lily. "But you have to learn _how_ first. And that takes time. Getting really good with a wand takes _years_ of study and practice." She smiled mischievously. "I can help, a little. At least sometimes. I couldn't do anything when I was alone and locked in the cupboard, but when you hold the wand in your hands… that's different. I can do all sorts of things for you then."

"Was that why Uncle Vernon didn't notice that the padlock was gone?" said Holly. "You made him… not notice?"

"Actually, I think that was you," said Lily, sounding proud. "You've got some _willpower_ in you, love! I noticed when I tried to put you to sleep — you resisted for more than a minute! Most children would have been deep in dreamland after five seconds!"

"Er… sorry?"

"No, no, that's a _good_ thing!" Lily hugged her again. "It means you're strong! You'll make a _great_ witch, Holly."

Holly blinked. "I'll make a great _what?"_

"A witch!" Lily repeated. "It's not an insult, it's what you _are._ Some girls are born with magic powers… they can do things other people can't. And we call those girls _'witches.'_ You're one of them, you proved that by willing your uncle not to notice that you were in the cupboard. I'll bet you've made other things happen too, right? When you were angry or scared or frustrated, maybe?"

"I… yes," said Holly. "Yesterday, when Aunt Petunia made me mow the lawn, the lawnmower came to life and did almost the entire lawn on its own. And today I opened the padlock by blowing on it…"

"See?" Lily beamed. "Only a witch could make those things happen! It certainly wouldn't have worked if you were a Muggle!"

"Muggle?" There was that word again. "What _is_ that?"

"Oh, sorry. A 'Muggle' is what we call someone who doesn't have any magic. Someone who isn't a witch."

"Like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"

"And like most of the human population on Earth, really," said Lily. "Magic is pretty rare… most humans never get to use it, that's why so many of them keep saying it doesn't exist. But _you_ , Holly… you're like me. Magic is in your blood. And padlocks and lawnmowers are just the start. As you get older, you'll learn all sorts of things! How to fly, how to conjure things out of thin air, how to turn invisible, how to disappear from one place and reappear in another... and so much more."

Holly was flabbergasted. "How — where do I learn all that?"

"At a school of magic, of course," said Lily. "At _the_ school of magic. The one you've been down for ever since you were born. Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft!"

 _"Hogwarts?"_ Holly repeated. That was a word she recognised. "Does — does that mean Ronnie's a witch too?"

"I don't know," said Lily. "Who's Ronnie?"

"A girl I met, about my age... She said she'd meet me on the Hogwarts Express. And she said 'Muggles' were… people who weren't like us."

"Definitely a witch, then," said Lily. "No doubt you will see her on the Hogwarts Express. If she's your age, you'll be in the same year at Hogwarts."

"I'll already know someone then!" Holly smiled. "By the way... what _is_ the Hogwarts Express?"

"It's the train that takes the students to the school at the start of every term. A beautiful scarlet steam train." Lily almost sounded whistful. "I remember how great it was to ride that train... and in three years' time, when you're eleven, you'll get to go to King's Cross in London, take the Express to Hogwarts, and start your first year of magic school."

"Three years… oh." Holly tried to pretend she wasn't disappointed. She'd hoped she could start at once.

Lily reached out and stroked her hair. "It won't be so bad," she said. "Now that you have your wand, I can keep an eye out for you. I can help make your life a little easier, maybe…" Then she changed her expression and tried to look as stern and motherly as her eight-year-old face would allow. "But, when you do get to Hogwarts, young lady, don't expect me to do all your work for you! In classes you're going to have to learn magic the hard way, just like everyone else!"

"I — didn't even think of that!" Holly gasped.

"You _would_ have thought of it. I know what it's like to be a student." Lily's expression softened. "But I _will_ be there for you when you need me. Starting now. As long as you have the wand, I will be there for you."

Once more, they hugged. Holly could feel the warmth and comfort from Lily's body. Everything just seemed to feel better when she was in the girl's arms…

"You'll have to think about waking up soon," said Lily softly.

Holly clung to her. "Not yet."

"You can stay asleep for a little while longer, but not too long. I'm sorry, but you can't sleep in the cupboard for hours. Sooner or later, your aunt and uncle will notice."

"I only _just_ closed my eyes. And I want to know more! Tell me —" Holly grasped for the first topic she could think of. "Tell me about the lesbians!"

Lily blinked. "What lesbians?"

"The ones Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talked about! After I'd made the lawnmower move on its own, they said I was turning into a lesbian freak."

"Lesbian freak…" Lily took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Of course. Of _course_ they would say that. They're so frightened of everything even slightly out of the ordinary that they'll take anything that's not completely vanilla, and declare it to be bad and unnatural and freakish…"

"Vanilla?" said Holly, puzzled. "Like ice cream? What's vanilla got to do with anything?"

"Oh. Er." For the first time, Lily looked a little flustered. "Perhaps that's something we should save for when you're a little older."

"Aw."

"Anyway, not all witches are lesbians. _I_ certainly wasn't! I loved your _very_ male father _very_ much, thank you kindly! It's just that…" Lily eased out of the hug. "Well, lesbianism is very _accepted_ among witches. _Encouraged_ , even."

"Why?"

"Because of the lack of magical men. Nobody really knows why… or at least they didn't when I was alive, they might have found out something in the last seven years… but magic seems to latch on to women a lot more easily than to men."

"You mean… there aren't any boy witches?" (Holly really didn't think this was a huge loss. Most boys she knew were horrid creatures, especially Dudley and his gang.)

"Oh no, there are!" said Lily. "They're called wizards. It's just that they're very rare. Even rarer than witches. I think there are about ten times as many witches as there are wizards. And so, for romance, witches either turn to each other, or they... _share_ their men. They're supposed to live in these large families called 'covens,' with one husband, and five or six wives… either that, or they go without men. Or if they want a man to themselves, they can find a Muggle…"

"Because there are a lot of Muggle boys!" said Holly, who was starting to understand.

"Right!" said Lily. "And it's not like it's _forbidden_ for witches to marry Muggles. It's just… we live in different worlds. It can be frustrating." She looked proud. "I managed to beat the system, though. I didn't want a Muggle, and I didn't want to share a husband with four or five other witches. I've always been a one-lover kind of girl. And I was lucky enough to find a wizard who agreed to get married Muggle-style. One husband, one wife, no covens." She smiled, somewhat sardonically. "I didn't make myself very popular with _that_ move."

"Why not?"

"Because a lot of witches wanted to be in a coven with your father, Holly! He was very popular. And for a good reason. He was handsome, charming, kind... he was rich, too. A little immature at first, but all boys are. When he grew up... Half the girls in Hogwarts wanted to get with him. When they found out I wanted him to myself, and that he wasn't taking any other wives, they got pretty angry with me. Called me selfish and mean and a lot of other things I don't want to repeat."

Holly frowned. All of a sudden, Hogwarts seemed a little less inviting than it once had.

Lily seemed to sense this. Her voice turned softer. "Don't think too harshly about them, love. They weren't bad people, on the whole. It's just that to most witches... at least the ones who didn't grow up in the Muggle world... the idea of what they call a 'Muggle marriage' is strange and unusual. To them, it's all about the covens. Large families, you see. Nobody _has_ to join a coven, but most of them grow up _expecting_ to. So when someone like me takes a man completely off the market, they don't know how to react."

Holly thought about this."I don't think I want to join any covens," she said eventually. "I don't want to marry any boy, Muggle or wizard. I want to be a lesbian!"

Lily chuckled. "Wait a few years before you make a final decision," she said. "But if you decide you don't want to join a coven, nobody's going to force you. Many Muggle-borns don't like the idea of covens. It's mostly the witch-borns... Oh, sorry," she added, as if realising that she was using unfamiliar terms again. "A _Muggle-born_ is a witch who has Muggle parents. Like me; my parents were both Muggles. Your father, on the other hand, was what we call a _witch-born."_

"Because his mother was a witch?" Holly guessed.

"Right again! That is, he actually had _six_ mothers. One birth-mother and five coven-mothers. And of course a wizard for a father."

Holly tried to imagine life with six mothers. It was impossible; she could barely imagine life with _one_ mother, let alone six. "Do covens have a lot of children?" she finally asked.

"Most of them do, yes," said Lily. "Mostly daughters, of course."

"Then I've seen a coven," said Holly.

"Really?"

"Today, here at Privet Drive! Ronnie's family! They were too many to count, but I could only see one man. The rest of them were either women or girls! Ronnie said she had eleven sisters!"

"Twelve daughters? That's a respectable number," said Lily. "Did you catch their name?"

"Er... Ronnie said her name was Weasley. Weasley of the... of the line of something."

"Weasley!" Lily nodded. "That's a familiar name! Her father must be _Arthur_ Weasley."

"You know Ronnie's Dad? Or... _knew_ Ronnie's Dad?"

"I should say so! Well... I didn't know him _well,_ but I know who he _is._ Two of the girls I knew from Hogwarts joined his coven. Francine and Alice. Witch-borns, both of them, a few years older than me, but very nice. They were even among the witches who supported me when I wanted your father to myself. Said that it was our choice and we should do what made us happy." Lily grinned. "If you see them again, maybe you could tell them I said... no, on second thought, that's probably a bad idea. Even in the witching world, people usually aren't prepared for casual messages from the dead. Forget I mentioned it. So, what were the Weasleys doing in privet Drive? Unless they've changed a _lot_ over the years, I can't imagine they would fit in well there."

"Visiting our neighbour, Mr Dumbledore," said Holly. "Ronnie told me he was helping them with something, but wouldn't say what."

"Dumbledore?" Lily suddenly grinned. "You mean _Albus_ Dumbledore?"

"Er… I think so," said Holly.

 _"He_ lives at Privet Drive?"

"Yes... at Number Seven-across-the-street, together with his housemate Hagrid."

Lily's grin got even wider. "Hah! They moved into Privet Drive? Well, that's a lucky break! Or, knowing Albus, _luck_ had nothing to do with it. When I asked him to keep an eye on you, he took it literally! And of course you don't get Albus without Hagrid… Holly, this is great!"

"It is?" Holly felt her head spin.

"It certainly is! Listen, Holly… the next time you get out of the house and have the time, go to Number Seven and knock on the door. And tell Albus that Lily knows he let her win that duel. He'll know what it means. "

"All right... wait, didn't you just say that people didn't want casual messages from the dead?" said Holly, confused.

"I did, but _Albus Dumbledore_ isn't just anyone! If anyone can handle it, he can! He's the greatest wizard of our time!"

"Mr Dumbledore's a wizard?!"

"Of course! I wouldn't have dueled him if he wasn't, would I?" Lily giggled. "Talk to Albus! He can tell you a lot more about the witching world than even I could. Besides, he was a very dear friend of mine when I was alive. Without him, I would never have managed to marry your father!"


	5. A Weasley Visit

**CHAPTER 5: A Weasley Visit**

* * *

"All right… nine, ten… stand _still,_ Lydia! Ten. Did I say ten? I think I said ten."

"You've counted Charlene twice, Dad."

"Have I? Oh, bother…"

Just as Holly was preparing to break into the cupboard under the stairs at Number Four, the Weasleys were standing outside Number Seven, trying to make certain that everyone was present.

The Weasley coven, at the moment, counted eighteen members. There was of course coven patriarch Arthur Weasley, and his five wives, Molly, Francine, Alice, Amanda and Flora… and of course, their twelve daughters, from sixteen-year-old Will to four-year-old Lydia.

"…eleven, twelve, and six adults make eighteen!" said Arthur, relieved. "Everyone present and accounted for!"

"Why doesn't this Albus Dumbledore just get a Floo connection?" said Flora. She was the youngest of Arthur's wives and her American accent stood out in the mix of Devon and Estuary accents spoken by the rest of the family, almost as much as her bright green hair stood out in a sea of redheads and blondes... and her rounded belly hinted that it wouldn't be long before a thirteenth child joined the family. "You can't tell me it wouldn't be more convenient than having everyone arrive on foot. Less chance of wandering children too."

"I _said_ I was sorry," Ronnie muttered.

"It's okay, Ronnie." Ten-year-old Fred patted her on the arm. "We had fun while you were gone."

Fred's twin sister, Georgina (or "George" as she preferred to be called) nodded. "Especially when that Muggle lady told Flora-Mum her hair looked like…"

"Yes, thank you, George!" said Amanda.

"…And then Mandy-Mum went all…"

"I said _thank_ you! Since we're all here, maybe someone can _finally_ ring the doorbell and inform the people we're here?"

"Let me!" said Arthur eagerly. "Muggle doorbells are so fascinating!" He looked about as excited as the youngest girls, as he gathered his robes around himself and walked up to the door. "Let's see if I remember this… you just put your finger on the button like _so…_ " He looked delighted at the sound of a chiming bell.

Seconds later, the door opened, and the doorframe was filled by the exceptionally large form of Hagrid.

"Hagrid!" a couple of the youngest girls cried happily. While children who didn't know Hagrid were sometimes intimidated by how impossibly large he was, it seldom took long before they learned that he was much gentler and kinder than his appearance suggested. The Weasleys had got to know Hagrid quite well over the last couple of years, and now four-year-old Lydia and five-year-old Marlyssa stormed up to him to hug him; each girl grabbing onto one of his sides even though he was much too wide for either of them to reach around him.

Hagrid's bushy black beard split into a grin. "Hello there!" he boomed, gently ruffling the hair of Lydia and Marlyssa. "There yeh are! Was startin' ter wonder if yeh'd got lost or summat!"

"Yes, hello…." Arthur had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry we're late, Hagrid. It's a little difficult to keep track of twelve children sometimes."

"And a husband who spends five minutes looking for a parking meter even though his very Muggle-born wife keeps insisting that there won't be one," said Amanda dryly.

"Ah, well, you know, better safe than sorry…"

Hagrid guffawed. "No worries," he said. "Don' jus' stand there, come in! Tea's ready!"

A few of the Weasleys looked at each other. "Tea?" said Alice. "You mean the, the _potion,_ surely?"

"Yeah, that too! C'mon in!" Hagrid stepped aside (Lydia and Marlyssa squealing in delight as he effortlessly lifted them up and carried them along) to let the flock of adults and children past.

They stepped in through the door and into the hallway. Most of them had never been here before, and the children looked around the unfamiliar room, which had colourful patterned rugs on the floor and magnificent-looking landscape paintings on the walls, so realistic that the many potted plants that were placed somewhat willy-nilly along the walls almost seemed like they were part of the landscapes.

Despite his vast bulk, and despite currently carrying two little girls, Hagrid was surprisingly light on his feet. He led the Weasleys up the staircase that led to the first floor, and none of the steps so much as creaked a protest under his weight.

The Weasleys were _almost_ orderly and well-behaved as they followed. Of course Nella tripped on the first step and had to be picked up and put back on her feet, and Persephone was sighing about how you couldn't take _children_ anywhere, which again caused Ronnie to suggest that Persephone go and boil her cabbage head… but all in all there weren't any incidents.

The twins, usually the loudest and most exuberant of the Weasley daughters, were unusually quiet as they walked hand in hand up the stairs.

Fred and George were not identical twins. While they were more alike than different —the same long red hair, the same mischievous brown eyes, and the same freckled noses, and the same colourful dresses — when they were next to each other like this it was easy to see that Fred was slightly taller and skinnier than George. There was another difference too, but that was one the family had spent the last year or so preparing to erase.

"Nervous?" George whispered, clutching her twin's hand.

"Nervous, me?" Fred's laughter wasn't quite sincere. "I've never been nervous in my life! What's that word mean, again?"

George giggled. "That's it, you're getting a dictionary for Christmas."

When they reached the first floor, none of them were particularly surprised to find that it was much larger than the ground floor; really it was much larger than the outside of the house allowed for. The hall they now entered was enormous; there would easily have been room for a hundred people here… or perhaps fifty, if they were all the size of Hagrid.

Here, the décor was wilder and more exciting, to the point of being impossible; here the paintings were grander and livelier; a ship on the sea was moving back and forth, with seagulls flying about, and a stately-looking wizard on the portrait opposite the ship turned to look at the flock of people as they passed, waving and winking to a couple of the girls. There were doors of all shapes and sizes on the walls; some small and wooden, others big and made of iron, and one of them looked like it had just been drawn on the wall with chalk.

And perhaps most fascinating of all: While most of the floor was polished marble, over at the very end of the hall it seemed to fade into dirt and grass, to fit very nicely with the small grove of sturdy oak trees that somehow grew and thrived there and looked perfect for climbing in. Between the trees hung an unusually large hammock, with a patchwork quilt almost the size of a tent draped over it, and on one of the branches, a large scarlet bird was unconcernedly preening itself.

It was the sort of place that just begged to be explored by a group of curious girls, but Hagrid just led them over to the chalk door.

"Everything's ready here in the study," he said. He touched the chalk drawing, which slid aside to reveal a new large room.

This room was large and circular, with a domed class ceiling, its walls filled with shelves containing myriads of leather-bound books and strangely glowing devices. The few patches of wall that were not occupied by shelves, had mysterious-looking star-charts, chalkboards filled with strange equations, and — interestingly — a photograph of the Beatles in their heyday, bearing the signatures of all four members of the band. A work-bench opposite the entrance gave part of the study the feel of a mad scientist's laboratory with its assortment of test tubes, beakers, burettes, Bunsen burners, and flasks with liquid in various colours… but the large table in the centre of the room had a white crotchet tablecloth and a brown clay pot where yellow dandelions were blooming cheerfully, as well as tea cups, classes, a large teapot and several places of cakes and biscuits.

By this table sat Albus Dumbledore, now dressed in a yellow poncho over a smart blue business suit, together with a short plump woman with long, straw-coloured hair, dressed in a scarlet velvet jacket over an embroidered trouser suit that seemed just a little too tight around her belly.

"Weasleys are here, Albus," said Hagrid, setting Lydia and Marlyssa carefully down onto the floor.

"Welcome to all of you!" Albus raised himself and motioned to the woman, who was just swallowing a large gulp of tea. "I do believe this is the first time I have had your entire family under my roof at the same time!"

"Well, it was easy to get all the children," said Arthur, shaking Albus's hand. "Summer holidays are here and they're all home from school. Harder to get all the adults, really… work schedules and all that."

"I'm very happy that you managed, at any rate," said Albus. "A number of you will no doubt remember Hortense — but for those of you who do not: This is Hortense Slughorn, the mastermind behind the Mulierarius potion."

"Of course we remember," said Molly. "How do you do, Professor!"

"Oh, no no no!" said the woman with a shake of her head. "It's not 'Professor' these days, my dear Molly! I haven't been 'Professor' since I made the best decision of my life and opted for early retirement!"

"Sorry. How do you do, _Hortense_."

"That's much better," said Hortense Slughorn. "Pleasure to see you again, of course! And Arthur! And, let me see… I remember Amanda, Francine and Alice from the old classes, but I don't seem to remember this pretty young thing. Interesting hair colour… you don't see many green-haired witches these days."

"I'm Flora," said Flora, obviously pleased at being called pretty. "And it's not my real hair."

"Well, you never know," said Hortense. "Dyed? Charmed?"

"It's a wig." Flora smiled sweetly. "I'm bald as a cue ball."

"Bald as a — my goodness!"

"And no wonder you don't remember me, I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Good heavens, why ever not?" Hortense tried to collect herself. "Oh, wait, no, of course… your accent. Ilvermorny girl, are you?"

 _"Kansas_ girl, really… but yes, I did go to Ilvermorny."

"Fancy that! And now you're here in jolly old England, and married to the Weasleys... And _expecting_ , I see!" Hortense indicated Flora's round belly. "I do believe congratulations are in order! This will be your first, will it?"

"Actually, yes," Flora blinked in surprise as her hand almost absentmindedly stroked her belly. "How did you know?"

"Oh, when you've lived a life like mine… I could tell you stories..." Hortense looked at the gathered children. "But perhaps not just now."

"Indeed not," said Albus Dumbledore. "Since you have met four-fifth of the adults here, Hortense, let me just introduce the young ones — this is Wilhelmina, Charlene, Anna, Persephone, Winifred —"

"It's _Frederica!"_

"Ah, my apologies. _Frederica_. And Georgina, Elaine, Veronica, Nella, Ginevra, Marlyssa and Lydia," Albus finished. "Please, everyone, sit! I have tea for those who want, and lemonade for those who want that."

Under normal circumstances the Weasley children probably would have dearly wanted to explore all the interesting things in the study, but the prospect of lemonade and chocolate biscuits at least temporarily convinced them to take their seats at the table and behave. As they sat down, the teapot stood up on four legs and walked over to each of the Weasleys in turn, pouring hot tea into mugs and cold lemonade into glasses.

There was room for them all around the table, even if Hagrid took up a fairly substantial portion of it.

The adults thanked the teapot, and Albus, politely, but Amanda looked a little sceptical. "We didn't really come here to have tea," she began.

"Oh, pish-tosh," said Hortense, accepting the refill. "I rather insisted on the tea. All for the sake of the patient, of course. When you're about to have the Mulierarius, it's always better to have a nice cup of tea inside you first."

"A truth that applies to more situations than just taking the Mulierarius potion," said Albus. "Chocolate biscuit, Amanda? Or perhaps you would prefer a ginger snap?"

For a few minutes, talk ceased as everyone got a biscuit.

"So," said Hortense after she had eaten half her ginger snap. "Take this as a compliment, or an insult, however you choose… but which one of you children will be taking the Mulierarius?"

Everyone looked at Fred, who seemed rather pleased as she raised her hand. "Me."

Hortense nodded as she looked Fred up and down. "Well, now," she said. "You _do_ rather look like a girl already, don't you?"

Several of her sisters winced as Fred frowned. "I _am_ a girl," she said, in a tone that didn't accept any counterarguments.

"Of course, of course," Hortense hurried to say. "My apologies, young lady! I just have to make certain, you know, just have to ask… You aren't currently under the effect of any other potion or charm, are you?"

Mollified, Fred shook her head. "Molly-Mum said you'd told her I shouldn't be under any other type of magic when I came here."

"Quite right!" Hortense nodded. "Mixing magics sometimes leads to unwanted results. But you _have_ been under the effects of temporary potions and charms, am I right?"

"Well, yeah," said Fred. "But not since yesterday!"

"That should suffice," Hortense agreed. "And you are _sure_ that this is what you want? The Mulierarius treatment isn't like those temporary potions or charms. Once you've started the treatment, you can't change your mind."

Fred looked straight at her. "I've _tried_ to be a boy. I hated every minute of it, but I really _did_ try. And I'm _absolutely_ sure I never want to do it again! I don't care if boys are supposed to be so very special and get all sorts of special treatment. _I am a girl."_

Arthur cleared his throat. "We've had long discussions about this," he said. "The entire coven supports Fred's decision. We know that it won't make us popular among certain families, but…" He looked around at his five wives, who all nodded. "Our daughter's happiness is more important."

"And she's a much better twin sister than she was a twin brother," George shot in. "She's a lot more fun now!"

A few of the other sisters nodded enthusiastically. Molly, who was sitting next to Fred, ruffled her hair lovingly. "A much bigger handful too," she said. "But it's a small price to pay, really. We're far better off with a happy daughter than with a miserable son, even if she misbehaves a little more."

"You mean I haven't been the perfect little angel, Molly-Mum?" Fred tried to look innocent and failed spectacularly.

"No, you've been rotten to the core, just like me!" said George cheerfully.

Fred giggled. "That's tough, but fair."

"Of course, I'm always right!" said George. "Comes with having a vagina, as you'll soon find out!"

"Who do you think you're talking to, sister?" said Fred, and pretended to be insulted. "Some kind of novice vagina-haver? I've had a vagina _dozens_ of times by now!"

 _"Temporary_ vaginas don't count, sister!" George answered.

A couple of the other sisters laughed at the twins' conversation; Ginny laughed loudest.

"All right, girls, that's enough," said Molly firmly. She gave Albus, Hortense and Hagrid an apologetic look. "I'm really sorry about this. They don't mean to be impertinent. They're just excited."

Albus, however, had chuckled along with the children, and Hagrid seemed quite unconcerned.

If Hortense disapproved of the conversation topic, she didn't show it. She just took another large sip of tea and then turned to speak to the adults. "So, what sort of charms and potions have you been using?"

"Started out with simple Sex-Change Charms," said Francine in a business-like manner. "Just to see whether she would take to it. The problem with those charms, of course, is that they are so temporary. Polyjuice Potion gave the most complete results, of course, but…"

"Polyjuice Potion is temporary as well," Hortense agreed. "Yes. Even I haven't ever been able to brew a Polyjuice that lasted for more than twelve, thirteen hours, and most batches don't last for half as long. A couple of hours is the most you can hope for. Much too inconvenient to have to remember to keep drinking the potion, especially for a young lady who is soon off to Hogwarts for the first time."

"Not to mention _expensive,"_ sighed Alice. "Some of those ingredients aren't cheap."

Hortense nodded. "And of course, there's this pesky limitation that it can only give you a copy of someone else's body… though I suppose that might be less of a problem if we're dealing with twins."

"It _was_ fun being identical twins for a while, wasn't it?" said Fred to George. "Switching places, confusing everyone…"

"We should be identical more often," agreed George. She looked up at Hortense. "Can you make Fred look permanently like me?"

"Yeah, can you?" said Fred eagerly.

 _"NO!"_ The cry came from Will, Anna and Persephone all at the same time. The three older girls looked at each other, somewhat sheepishly.

Ginny laughed.

"I'm certain you would prefer having your very own feminine body, Frederica," said Albus. "I would imagine having to live as someone else for the rest of your life would be a strain… even if that someone else is your twin sister."

"I think I could manage," said Fred.

"My dear child, I'm afraid the Mulierarius doesn't quite work like that," said Hortense. "Whereas the Polyjuice Potion gives you an exact copy of someone else's body, the Mulierarius Potion simply aims to give you the body you _would_ have had, had you been born female. I can't say with any certainty what that body would look like."

Fred pondered for a moment. "Whatever it looks like, it's _got_ to be better than this one," she finally said.

"Very well," said Hortense. "Once we've finished our tea, we can start your treatment."

Fred punched the air. "Yes!"

The adult Weasleys exchanged glances, smiling but not completely without a gleam of concern in their eyes.

They all knew that while there was no actual _law_ against what they were about to do, the witching world in general would not approve. Of course it wasn't _uncommon_ for witches and wizards to experiment with being the opposite sex for a bit; there were plenty of potions and spells that could temporarily give you the experience of being a different sex, and few people ever batted an eye at this... it was only natural to be curious, after all. Sometimes it could be good to experience life from the other side of the fence, as it were. Not to mention, consenting adults could have quite a lot of fun with a temporary Sex Change Charm. But a _permanent_ transformation of a wizard to a witch? That would not be met with a lot of understanding.

Still, as Arthur had said, that was a small price to pay for a child's happiness. If Fred, or Frederica as she was going to call herself, was happy, then who cared what conservative covens like the Malfoys thought?

Yes, when the twins had been born ten years ago, they _had_ been delighted to have a son. With how rare it was for magical children to be male, it was by no means a given for any coven to be blessed with a boy.

But it turned out that, at least if young Fred Weasley had a say in it, the Weasleys had not been blessed with a boy either. From a very early age, he had preferred wearing the exact same clothes as his twin sister, and refused to have his hair cut shorter than hers. Three times, Molly had tried giving him a short and boyish haircut like the sons in the Diggory and Lovegood covens had, but every time Fred's hair would grow back again in a matter of hours and be just as long as Georgina's again.

At first, the adults hadn't been too concerned. After all, Fred was the only boy in the household, and it was possible he just didn't like to be treated differently. Children often had their own very blatant opinions about fairness, after all, and it wasn't completely unheard of for little boys to grumble and complain because they weren't allowed to do all the things their sisters were allowed to do. So, thinking that perhaps Fred just needed to see that there were other boys around and that he wasn't alone, they'd arranged for him to spend some time with other wizard boys.

Luckily, the two covens who lived closest, the Diggorys and the Lovegoods, both had sons close to Fred's age, and both covens had been more than happy to have the then-five-year-old Fred over to play with said sons.

Things hadn't really worked out the way the Weasleys had hoped.

The visit to the Diggory coven had been the worst. Fred had _not_ hit it off with little Cedric, who was only a few months older than him, and had spent the entire visit playing with Cedric's sisters instead.

The visit to the Lovegoods had gone somewhat better, but had led to a rather startling revelation. The Lovegood coven was in the almost unheard-of situation that they had _two_ sons, Lucian and Damian, and Fred had been a lot friendlier with them than he'd been with Cedric — but it turned out that this had been mainly because the Lovegoods had immediately accepted him as a girl and consistently referred to him as a "her."

By the time Fred was seven, it was clear to everyone that this "wanting to be a girl" thing wasn't just a passing fancy. So after some long and serious talks between the adults, some of which included Fred and some if which did not, it was decided that they would do what they could to help their only son become one of their _daughters_.

And so, Fred Weasley had been allowed to try out life as a girl for a while, to see if she really liked it. The family had researched sex-change magics, acquired temporary potions, and (since Fred liked her name better than her sex) spent ages arguing over whether "Winifred" or "Frederica" was a better name for a girl Fred.

The idea of talking to Albus Dumbledore had in fact come from his sister, the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Albus might be an unorthodox wizard, and certainly not a name welcome in the "finer" parts of the witching world, but he _had_ helped out a lot of people over the years, and had several friends and connections among witches and Muggles alike.

Luckily, one of these friends was Hortense Slughorn, the old Potions Mistress at Hogwarts and one of the most renowned potioneers of the century… and, as it turned out, the inventor of the exact potion they needed.

"We really don't know how to thank you for this, Hortense," said Arthur as he looked over at said renowned potioneer.

Hortense had chosen a chocolate biscuit, and now she held it in her hand as she looked at Arthur. "The best way to thank me, my dear fellow, is to _not_ tell anyone who you got the Mulierarius potion from. Believe me, I'm happy to do my old friend Albus a favour… but I have no wish to become known as someone who invents and provides potions to permanently turn wizards into witches. My reputation would be _quite_ ruined."

"I, however," said Albus cheerfully, "have never had a reputation to ruin, except among the outcasts of witching society. And I feel certain that _they_ would quite approve, or at least understand. So feel free to put the blame on me."

"Same goes fer me," Hagrid rumbled between two enormous bites of cake, "Well, 'cept nobody'd ever believe _I'd_ invented a potion. I can barely make a decent cuppa tea."

"Don't sell yourself short, Hagrid," said Albus, his eyes twinkling. "Your tea is quite adequate." Then, he turned to look at the collected Weasleys. "Mind you… if you really want to express your gratitude, there might be something…"

"Yes?" said Arthur.

"You all know the story of Holly Potter." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Everyone in the witching world knew the story of Holly Potter.

"I met Holly Potter!" said Ronnie, in the middle of her third biscuit.

"You never did!" said Elaine, who was sitting next to her.

"I did!" Ronnie swallowed. "Just today, while I was… er… while I was looking for you lot! She showed me the way here!"

Ginny looked utterly betrayed. "And you didn't tell us about it straight away?!"

Ronnie blushed a little. "I just…" she murmured, without really having any way of continuing that sentence.

Albus, however, nodded thoughtfully. "You've already met her, then," he said. "Forgive me for asking a personal question, Veronica, but what did you think of her?"

"Well…" Ronnie began, a little awkwardly. "I don't know. I liked her. She was nice. Not, you know, stuck-up or anything."

Albus nodded again, this time with a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I will have to talk to her about it, of course, but I might ask your family to do her a favour sometime in the future…"


	6. Stupid Baby Girl

**CHAPTER 6: Stupid Baby Girl**

* * *

Holly's visit to Number Seven did not happen as soon as she'd hoped.

Originally, she'd planned to go straight over there the very same afternoon… but the Dursleys had other plans. Though she'd managed to sneak out of the cupboard and replace the padlock before Aunt Petunia had come home, or Uncle Vernon found out where she was, her aunt and uncle had kept her busy with moving out into the garden shed, packing her meagre belongings and carrying them out to her "new home."

There hadn't really been all that much to pack. Her school uniform, of course, and her other clothes. Her school bag and school supplies (second-hand, of course). A few books and blankets. Her secret food stash, hidden inside a rolled-up blanket so that no Dursleys would find it. She wasn't too surprised to learn that she wouldn't be allowed to take her desk or bed, because "they belonged to the house!" and that all the furniture she'd get out in the shed was an old, rather lumpy mattress and a small chest to keep her clothes in.

By the time she'd moved everything and tried to make everything as homey as possible, it was time for dinner. Fish fingers and chips today; not the most elaborate of meals, but not bad. As usual Dudley got half the fish fingers and most of the chips.

"I hope you appreciate the trouble your uncle went through for you, girl," said Aunt Petunia as they ate. "Taking valuable time off work to give you a place of your own. I don't suppose you've even thanked him properly, have you?"

Holly swallowed her chip and then gave Uncle Vernon her sweetest smile. "Thank you for the lovely shed, Uncle Vernon," she said. "I'll be very happy there!"

Uncle Vernon's fork stopped halfway to his mouth as his brain apparently tried to process Holly's words. Finally, he seemed to draw the conclusion that she was making fun of him, because he slammed the fork down on his plate and gave her a nasty look. "Don't you cheek me, you ungrateful brat!" he snapped.

"No, Uncle Vernon," said Holly, the very picture of goodwill and obedience.

"And I hope you've noticed that new code lock on the cupboard under the stairs," Uncle Vernon continued. "Only _I_ know the combination to that lock, so don't even _try_ to fiddle with it!"

"No, Uncle Vernon," Holly repeated. In truth, the cupboard under the stairs — the same cupboard that had called out to her all her life — no longer interested her in the slightest. She'd discovered its secret, she'd got the wand that was her birthright, and now the cupboard didn't have anything to do with her anymore.

She carefully moved her hand down to stroke it over her skirt, to feel the vague contours of the wand in her pocket.

You wouldn't have thought that a wand that was longer than Holly's forearm would fit in a shallow skirt pocket, but it was as if the wand shrank, or maybe it was her pocket that expanded into some strange unknown dimension, because it had slid right in with no problem and it was impossible to tell from the outside where it was. Certainly none of the Dursleys had noticed.

Not even Uncle Vernon, when installing the new code lock, had noticed that the wand was no longer in the cupboard. Holly was rather proud of herself for the simple trick she'd performed to fool him: Before she had sneaked out of the cupboard, she'd removed the lower bar from one of the coat-hangers and placed it on the floor where the wand had been, covering it with dust as well as she could. Now it _almost_ looked like the wand was still there… at least if you didn't look to closely at it to see that the new "wand" was notably shorter and shaped differently. But Uncle Vernon apparently wasn't in the habit of looking closely at the wands he locked up in cupboards, so the trick had worked.

Dudley polished off the last fish finger and shoved his plate away. "Can I leave the table?" he asked. "I want to go up to _my_ new room," (he gave Holly a very gleeful look as he said this) "and decide where I want the television."

"Of course you may, poppet," Aunt Petunia cooed at him.

Uncle Vernon clapped him jovially on the shoulder. "Just let me know if you need any help, Dudley," he said. "A boy your age should have a place to call his own." Then he looked at Holly. "And _you_ can do the dishes. And afterwards you can go to your room — I mean, your shed. You know, to _settle in_ properly."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Holly, still keeping her tone sweet.

Uncle Vernon glared suspiciously at her, but didn't comment any further.

* * *

And so it was that Holly found herself in the shed after dinner, with no real way of sneaking off to see Mr Dumbledore.

Not that she was locked in the shed or anything — there wasn't even a lock on the door — but the garden was fenced in with hedges it was impossible to climb (she'd tried a number of times!) and the only way out was through the house, where Uncle Vernon was having his after-dinner nap and Aunt Petunia was watching one of her inane television programs. It'd be impossible to get past them.

She walked over to the lumpy mattress that had been placed by the far wall, underneath the dirty window, and sat down on it, trying to get herself comfortable as she looked around at what was to be her new home.

It wasn't exactly a palace. Not even half the size of her old bedroom, but a lot emptier, and (despite the lack of Dudley's broken toys) a lot dirtier. Uncle Vernon had cleared out the shed, but not bothered to clean it, so there were still cobwebs on the ceiling and dirt in the corners. Over the creaking door, a bare lightbulb promised illumination if she flicked on the light switch, in the opposite corner, an electric heater promised heat if she plugged it into the socket, and that was that.

However… she had a secret weapon. Shifting, she pulled the wand out of her skirt pocket.

Once again, she let her fingers slide over the smooth, polished wood. The wand felt nice to touch. (Holly wondered if Lily could feel this; maybe it felt like having her hair stroked.) "What do you think, Mum?" she said. And grimaced a little. The word _'Mum'_ felt weird and unfamiliar in her mouth, especially when she tried to connect it to the little girl she'd talked to in her dreams. _"Lily,"_ she corrected herself. "I'm going to call you _Lily._ Is that okay?"

The wand didn't answer, but Holly had a vague feeling that Lily didn't mind.

What was it she'd said? _You can learn how to fly, how to how to conjure things out of thin air, how to turn invisible, how to disappear from one place and reappear in another._ If all those things were possible with a wand, then Holly shouldn't have any problems sprucing this place up a little… or maybe even get past the Dursleys to go see Mr Dumbledore.

Of course, she didn't actually know how to _use_ the wand. (She had some vague notion that you were supposed to wave it about and say some sort of magic word… probably she'd learn all the magic words at this Hogwarts place.) Still, there was no harm in _trying_ , was there?

 _"Hokery pokery!"_ she commanded, waving the wand about, and completely failed to turn invisible.

 _"Squiggly wiggly?"_ she added, thrusting the wand out in the air, and did not rise up in the air.

 _"Flibbertigibbet?"_ she tried, tapping her forehead with the wand, and remained exactly where she was without suddenly appearing at Number Seven.

This wasn't working.

Holly looked at the wand again, thinking back at all the things Lily had said.

Most of the details were still sharp and fresh in her mind, which was rather unusual for dreams. As a rule, Holly only vaguely remembered her dreams; they were clear and vivid while she had them, but the moment she woke up they started to seem vague and indistinct. Lily was different, though; the mental image of the girl was like etched into Holly's memory. She could have described that red hair and those green eyes in detail, for her inner ear she could still heat that merry laughter... and if anyone had ever asked, Holly was certain she could flawlessly have recited almost their entire conversation.

Holly was a witch. She had magical powers, and now she also had a magic wand. That much was beyond any reasonable doubt. Even if she didn't yet know how to _control_ her magical powers, they were still _there,_ somewhere deep inside her. Hadn't she, the last couple of days alone, made a lawnmower move on its own, opened padlocks without a key, and made Uncle Vernon ignore her in the cupboard just by _willing_ it?

Now that she thought about it, she could recall other incidents that might have been magic… strange little things. Wasn't there something, last year, when Dudley had broken her glasses... and then when she'd looked closer the glasses were fine? At the time she'd just thought that she'd been wrong and that the glasses had never been broken at all, but maybe it was her magic that had repaired them?

She _had_ to talk to Mr Dumbledore. If he really was a wizard, he'd know all about it. He could probably tell her what to do. At least until she was old enough for Hogwarts.

Then another thought struck her. Lily had said that she would try to help Holly out, hadn't she? No doubt Lily had known all kinds of magic when she was alive, and being a spirit haunting a magic wand probably meant she knew even more. And Lily was here… all right, Holly couldn't see her or talk to her, but she was holding the wand.

 _I can only talk to you in dreams,_ Lily had said. Holly closed her eyes and tried to feel whether she was sleepy enough to take a nap — but she wasn't.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She held the wand out, peered at it through her glasses and tried to recall Lily in detail. Tried to imagine that she was talking directly to the girl and not to a wand. "Please," she whispered. "You said you would help me. Can't you at least give me a proper bed to sleep on, so I won't have to sleep on a lumpy mattress on the… on the… oh…"

Her voice trailed off as a strange sense of calm began spreading through her body, and her hands began moving of their own accord. It was as if she had suddenly turned into a puppet, controlled by the will of someone else. It was a thought that should have scared her, but all she could feel was a sense of comfort, combined with the growing warmth deep in her chest that she was starting to think of the feel of _magic._

Still on its own account, her right hand brandished the wand and tapped it against the mattress she was sitting on. Then, she felt herself shift and be raised up into the air as the mattress grew… and grew. The lumps vanished, and the mattress turned softer and springier, as a wooden bedframe formed around it. Pillows of scarlet and gold popped up and formed on one end of the growing bed, while one of the worn blankets grew to become a thick, warm quilt.

The feeling of magic faded, and her hands flopped as the controlling force let up on it.

She was sitting on the larges, softest, most comfortable bed she had ever seen. Even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's super-king-size bed was small in comparison. It was a bed that was really much too large for the small shed… but somehow, just like with the wand and her pocket, it fit perfectly while still leaving plenty of floor space.

For a few moments, Holly could do nothing but stare in astonishment. Then, she burst into laughter and planted a big kiss on the wand. She rolled around, jumped and bounced on the wonderful new bed, giggling uncontrollably.

 _Magic!_ It was _amazing!_

After having bounced around on the bed for a while, she flopped down onto her stomach and lay still, just enjoying the feeling of the suddenly-very-comfortable mattress. She'd sleep like a baby in this bed, she knew it. Maybe she should try to…?

Just as she was about to take off her glasses and snuggle up for a nap, there was a pounding on the door. Holly sat up with a start.

 _"This is the police!"_ came a depressingly familiar voice from the outside. _"You're under arrest!"_

Holly groaned and sat up. Stupid Dudley! Wasn't it enough that he'd just got a new game room? Did he _have_ to come out here to bother her when she wanted to be left alone? Of course he did. Teasing and tormenting her was his favourite hobby, and it wasn't like Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would make him stop.

"It's illegal to live in sheds!" Dudley's voice continued from the other side of the door. "You'll get fifty years in jail for this!"

"Go _away,_ Dudley!" Holly called.

"I'm not Dudley!" said Dudley, trying to make his voice sound as deep as possible. "I'm Chief Constable Carter and I'm here to arrest you!"

Usually, Holly tried to just ignore it when he harassed her in this childish way. Dudley had never been patient, and tended to get bored if he didn't get the reaction he wanted, so it was usually best to just retreat to a secluded place and wait him out. But now, her blood was starting to boil. Wasn't she a _witch?_ Didn't she have a _wand,_ and couldn't she do _magic?_ Who did this… this _Muggle_ think he was, trying to pick on _her?!_

Clutching the wand in her hand, she marched over to the door and tore it open, staring straight into the smirking face of her cousin. "Watch it, _Chief Constable!"_ she snapped. "I just happen to be a _witch!_ And unless you go away, I'll turn you into a frog or something!"

"A witch!" Dudley laughed. "Yeah, you're ugly enough to be one! Hey, what's that you're holding?" he added, looking at the wand in her hand and reaching out a hand.

"Keep your filthy hands off that!" Holly pulled away, clutching the wand protectively to her chest.

"Give it here!" Dudley made a grab for the wand. He couldn't possibly know what it was, but as so often before; if Holly wanted something, that made him all the more determined to grab it for himself.

"No!" Holly pulled back again as he lunged for her.

 _"Give it!"_

 _"No!"_

 _"Give —_ what's that giant bed doing there?!" Dudley stopped mid-lunge as his eyes caught sight of Holly's wonderful new bed. His eyes widened, and he turned to look more closely at it. First with astonishment, then with envy. His own bed wasn't half as big. "Where'd you get that?"

Holly was breathing heavily. "I told you, I'm a witch," she said. "I _magicked_ it here. Now get out, or I'll _magic_ you too!"

"There's no such thing as magic," Dudley scoffed, parroting what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had said. An evil smile spread on his wide face. "I bet you _stole_ it," he said.

"What?!" Holly's anger vanished, replaced with a sense of dread. This was going in a direction she hadn't predicted. "I didn't steal anything! I'm a witch, not a thief! Besides," she added hurriedly as she thought of something else, "where'd I steal a bed from? And how'd I get it home without anyone seeing me?"

"I don't know, but you didn't get it from _us,"_ said Dudley. "And we don't know anyone else who would ever give you a present! So you _stole_ it!" He guffawed. "Wait'll I tell Mum and Dad about this! You're going to go to prison for _real!"_

"No!" Holly wasn't stupid enough to believe the part about going to prison, but she could well imagine the trouble she would be in if her aunt and uncle found out she'd taken the wand, or that she had tricked them about it. As Dudley made for the door, she darted over to the door to block his exit.

"Get out of my way!" he commanded.

"Only if you promise not to tell Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon!" Holly tried to make herself as big as possible. Dudley was bigger, heavier and stronger than her, and could probably push her aside with relative ease, but she was determined to do what she could to stop him.

Dudley looked at her. She could tell that he was torn between wanting to torment her a little more, and getting her into trouble with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Finally, as so often was the case with him, greed won the battle: "What'll you give me if I don't?"

"I… don't have anything," said Holly. "Unless you want the bed, but I don't think you could get it out of the shed..."

"I don't want the bed." Dudley held out his hand. "Give me that stick."

"No!" She clutched the wand and shook her head vehemently.

"Then I'm going to tell Mum and Dad." He grabbed her by the shoulders to push her aside.

"Wait!" she cried. "I'll do your homework for a year!"

That got his attention. Dudley _hated_ doing homework, and though his parents never minded that he did poorly in school, teachers did have this tendency to get a little tetchy if the students didn't do their homework. "Even maths?"

"Even maths," she agreed, even though she hated maths almost as much as he did.

Dudley paused. He didn't let go of her, but he looked at her with a slight frown as if trying to figure out whether she was lying or not. "Say you're a stupid baby girl first."

"What?!"

"Say you're a stupid baby girl. Or the deal's off."

Holly swallowed. "I-I'm a stupid baby girl?"

"Louder!" Dudley demanded, revelling in his position of power over her.

"I'm a stupid baby girl!"

"Louder!"

 _"I'M A STUPID BABY GIRL!"_

Laughing, Dudley finally let go of her shoulders. "That's right, you _are!"_ And with that, he shoved her so hard that she nearly lost her balance. "Only a stupid baby girl would believe that I'd make a _deal_ with her! Mum and Dad are going to _kill_ you!"

That was when something snapped inside Holly. For the second time in as many days, she felt as if something exploded in her chest, sending streams of fire out through her veins. The fire she'd felt when making the lawnmower move was nothing compared to the torrent of white-hot burning that now streamed through her body. _She had never hated anyone more than she hated her cousin right now._

The door to the shed slammed shut. With a surprised yelp, Dudley was flung up into the air and was sent hurling through the shed until he landed on the bed, bouncing up and down on the springy mattress.

"Are you… are you out of your _mind!"_ Dudley tried to sit up. He didn't appear to be hurt, but his voice was strangely breathless, and he was struggling to speak. "I could have broken... could have broken my _neck_ , you stupid…! _Aaaah!"_ He suddenly shrieked, his boyish voice suddenly becoming higher and more feminine, as his short blonde hair decided to grow longer, and his body and face began changing.

Panicking, Dudley tried to raise himself, but now he was starting to shrink. _"What's happening!"_ he shrieked, his voice now unmistakably that of a girl, as his clothes became looser and hung off his rapidly diminishing body.

No… _her_ rapidly diminishing body. As the clothes fell off and bared Dudley's shrinking form, it became clear that Dudley wasn't only shrinking, but turning into a girl as well.

Dudley raged, clutching tiny fists. "Make it stop!" Her voice turned more and more high-pitched and babyish. "I'm telling Mum and Dad! I'm tellin'… I'm tewwin'… I'm… teww… no, pwease, I... pweathe... gaaa bpphh-tthhhh... gooo daaa." And then, Dudley was gone. In his place, surrounded by his clothes, sat a naked baby girl.

"Hah!" Holly crowed triumphantly. "Who's the stupid baby girl _now_ , Dudley?! I'm a witch and you're just a stupid Muggle! _You're a stupid Muggle baby girl!"_

But then, reality came crashing down on her. What had she _done?!_ Now Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really _would_ kill her!

"Dudley!" She threw herself down on the bed next to the baby girl. "Dudley, I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to do that! You just made me so _angry_ , and… Dudley?"

The baby girl looked at her with big, blue eyes, and then started sucking her thumb. The transformation, Holly realised, was complete and total; there was nothing left of Dudley as she knew him in this little baby; those eyes held no anger or recognition, no sign of any mental activity beyond that of a normal one-year-old girl. She hadn't just made Dudley look like a baby girl, she'd made him... her... think and feel like one too. A baby girl who couldn't even walk, or talk, or understand what was going on, much less be able to remember that she was supposed to be an eight-year-old boy.

Holly raised herself and looked out the window, half-expecting to see Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon come running… but the garden was quiet and empty. It seemed like the noise from the shed hadn't reached the house. Holly breathed a very small sigh of relief… but only a very small one, because she was certainly still in trouble. She flopped back down onto the bed and held her wand up in front of her face.

"Lily!" she pleaded. "You've got to help me! Dudley's a baby girl, and I don't know how I did it, and I don't know how to undo it!"

A sudden whooshing and crackling noise from above made her lift her head in surprise. And stare in shock as a large bird appeared in a burst of flames, flapped its wings and landed elegantly on the bed next to Holly.

This bird was like no other bird she'd seen. It was slightly smaller than a swan, its plumage was a brilliant scarlet, and it had a long tail that looked almost like a peacock's, except it was golden in colour. In it golden beak, it was holding a folded-up piece of paper, which it dropped down onto the bed in front of Holly, before looking at her, cocking its head this way and that.

"Er… hello?" said Holly uncertainly.

The bird chirped. It sounded like a strange mix of a flute and a baby eagle. Then it motioned with its head to the piece of paper, which Holly could now see had her name written on it in purple ink. _HOLLY POTTER._

"Is that… a letter?" said Holly. "For me?"

The bird nodded, in an almost human way.

The baby girl that had been Dudley had looked at the bird in awe for a while. Now, she eagerly reached for it with her small hands, laughing in delight as the bird ruffled its feathers at her.

Accepting (at least for now) that the bird wasn't going to try pecking their eyes out or anything like that, Holly gingerly picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. The handwriting was elegant and flourishing; perhaps a little hard to read, but she managed to decipher it:

 _Holly,  
Forgive me for contacting you in this manner, but it seems like you are in dire need of assistance. The bird's name is Fawkes; he is an old friend of mine and will help you bring your unfortunate cousin to my home. Just make sure you hold your cousin in your arms, and then grab hold of his tail-feathers, and he will take care of the rest._

 _I will explain everything when I see you in person. Don't worry, we'll sort this out._

 _Sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore._

Holly looked at the bird, which was now having its feathers clumsily stroked by a very enthusiastic baby girl.

"Fawkes?" she said.

The bird chirped again.

"Right," said Holly.

How in the world had Mr Dumbledore known what was going on here? Maybe the spirit of Lily had contacted him somehow… or maybe, if he really was a wizard, he just _knew_ things. For a few moments, she wondered whether it really was such a good idea to grab hold of strange birds on the say-so of letters with handwriting she didn't know… but then again, the alternative was to stay here and face the wrath of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when they found out what had happened to their son.

"Come on, Dudley." She scooped the baby girl up in her arms. "We're off to see the wizard."

Tentatively, she grabbed hold of Fawkes's long golden tail.

And the world vanished around them in a torrent of flames.


	7. The Story of Tom and Lily

**CHAPTER 7: The Story of Tom and Lily**

* * *

"It's quite simple, really," said Mr Dumbledore. He indicated the scarlet bird, now perching on top of a bookshelf and looking very pleased with itself. "Fawkes here is a phoenix."

"A phoenix," Holly repeated.

"Also known as a firebird," said Mr Dumbledore. "Not the type of bird you will ever learn about at St. Grogory's Primary School, but a fascinating creature all the same. Among many other things, they have the power of Apparition — instantly transporting themselves, and any passengers they might take, from one place to another."

"Oh."

"Speaking of which, I hope your transportation here wasn't too startling? I did ask him to be gentle, but it seemed like you needed help rather urgently."

"It was… no, it was fine." In truth, with all the magic that had happened the last two days, she'd rather expected for something much like it to happen — vanishing in a burst of flame and reappearing somewhere else — but it had taken the breath out of her for a bit.

It did help that Mr Dumbledore had been quite calm and friendly about the whole thing. He'd been waiting for them as they appeared in his study, and had listened to Holly's somewhat breathless explanation with a look of understanding.

Now that she had calmed down a little, Holly could look around and appreciate her surroundings a little more. She had never really speculated on what a wizard's study might look like — but if she had, she would probably have imagined something much like this. Huge and circular, with a glass ceiling, filled with star-charts, strange devices, a work-bench filled with what could only be described as "laboratory stuff" and enough books to start a small library.

There was also a large table in the middle of the room, currently occupied by the baby-girl-who-had-once-been-Dudley. Watched over by a towering Hagrid, the baby was now wearing an orange baby overall that Mr Dumbledore had made appear out of nowhere, and was happily gnawing on a biscuit.

"Well," said Mr Dumbledore. "Let's see about your cousin. How's it going over there, Hagrid?"

"Oh, fine," said Hagrid. "Think yeh're right, Albus. Looks like some variant of an Age-Regression Charm, combined with a Sex-Change Charm. Gotta say, that's some impressive magic, 'specially for someone who never had a lesson in her life," he added with a look at Holly. "Well… since the secret's out, migh' as well say it: Welcome ter the witchin' world, Holly!"

"Er… thank you," said Holly, feeling a slight blush coming on. Now that the shock was fading, and she was looking at the baby, who was making little cooing noises as she swallowed the last biscuit crumb, she couldn't help but think that she'd changed Dudley for the _better_. It was almost impossible to imagine that this was the same Dudley who teased and tormented, who tried to punch her and pull her hair, who always got her into trouble with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and laughed about it afterwards. Was it really so bad that…?

No! What was she _thinking?_ Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would kill her if she came home with a baby girl and tried to tell them that this was Dudley!

"I shouldn't worry too much," said Mr Dumbledore, as if he'd guessed what she was thinking about. "This sort of magic seldom lasts for very long. It takes a lot more than just a fleeting moment of fear and anger to change anyone's sex or age permanently. Dudley will be back to himself soon enough."

"Oh…" Holly felt the relief flow through her body, but there was a strange tinge of disappointment there too. Of _course_ she was happy that no permanent harm had been done, but… well… it was almost depressing to think that before long, the Dudley she knew and loathed would be back, and this adorable little girl would be gone forever.

"Of course," said Mr Dumbledore, in a mildly reproachful tone, "it wasn't a particularly _nice_ thing to do to your cousin."

"Ah, bet he deserved it," rumbled Hagrid. "Yeh know Dudley. Most spoiled brat in Little Whingin'."

"Perhaps so, but I doubt regressing him to the state of an infant will help him grow up any." Mr Dumbledore turned to Holly. "Generally speaking, Holly, we do not turn people into babies just because they are acting badly. For one thing, we wouldn't be able to move for babies. For another, you are not supposed to use magic on those who have no magic themselves. "

"You mean Muggles?" said Holly.

Mr Dumbledore's eyebrows raised slightly. "Oh, so you know that word already? And here I thought I was making things less confusing for you. Yes, I mean Muggles. And you're not supposed to use magic on Muggles, unless it's an absolute, life-or-death emergency. There are strict rules against it… besides, it's not fair to the Muggles."

"But…" said Holly helplessly.

He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Believe me, I understand. Dudley Dursley can be an extremely trying person. And all your life he has been the one with power over you… a power he's been foolish enough to use, time and again. And then when _you_ are suddenly the one with power over _him_ … Well, older and wiser witches than you have lost control in similar situations. Many of them weren't even sorry afterwards."

 _"Bdumm-bdumm-bdumm-bdummmmm!"_ The baby girl added, strumming on her lips with a tiny hand.

Holly stifled a giggle.

"To be frank," Mr Dumbledore continued, "I sometimes worry that witches — and wizards, for that matter — get so caught up in their own magic that they forget Muggles are people too. They have been given a special gift… an _amazing_ gift… and end up looking down on others who don't share that gift. That sort of thinking leads to some nasty places."

His tone was light, but all of a sudden Holly felt ashamed. That was _exactly_ what she'd done, wasn't it? She remembered all too well her own words of _'I'm a witch and you're just a stupid Muggle.'_ Words that had been immensely satisfying at the time, but now seemed stupid and nasty, even if they were said to someone like Dudley.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down.

"It's all right," said Mr Dumbledore. "You are young, and you didn't know. Both Hagrid and I have been trying to convince your aunt and uncle for years that you needed to be told about your heritage, or something like this would happen. But they wouldn't listen to a word we said. They were convinced that if you didn't know anything, you wouldn't end up following in your mother's footsteps. A foolish hope, of course, but one they kept clinging to."

"Ma-wiwela," the baby girl assured her, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Holly looked up again then. "So… you two really are wizards, then?"

"We are," said Mr Dumbledore. "I'm sorry we didn't have this talk earlier, but… let's just say that we don't have much of a legal standing. Your aunt and uncle don't like us very much, and neither does much of the witching world, if I'm to be honest."

Years with the Dursleys had taught Holly all too well that there are a lot of people who will instantly dislike or even hate anyone who is different — either because they look or dress or talk differently, or because they live their lives in ways that's different from the norm. So she hurried to say, in the most reassuring way she could: _"I_ like you. I think you're the nicest people in all of Privet Drive!"

Mr Dumbledore smiled warmly. "That's very sweet of you, Holly. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. Let's just say we have some ideas and philosophies that just aren't seen as very acceptable."

"Is it because you're bohemians, or because you're gay, or because you aren't in a coven?" Holly asked.

Hagrid guffawed at that, but Mr Dumbledore just looked at her in mild surprise. "All of them, I suppose," he said. "Or I should say, those are the reasons for why the witching world doesn't like _me_ too much. Hagrid is a slightly more complicated case."

" 'M part giant," said Hagrid gruffly.

"Part _giant?"_ Holly gasped. "Like in the fairy-tales? Castles in the sky, Fee-fi-fo-fum, grind his bones to make my bread, and everything?!" (Though the Dursleys did not like fairy-tales, probably because there was often magic in them, school and libraries had assured that Holly still had a basic knowledge of the more common ones.)

"Well, castles in the sky, I dunno... bu' the bread outta bones part's pretty accurate," said Hagrid. "Witches in general, they don' like giants much. Got a bit of a reputation, yeh might say. But I stopped bein' ashamed o' me family ages ago," said Hagrid. "Got lotsa friends now what don' care one way or the other."

"Oh…" Holly paused and then smiled at him. "Well, _I_ like giants. If they're like you…"

"Not really," said Hagrid. "But thank you anyway." He ruffled her hair, surprisingly gentle for such a large man.

"Years ago, when I decided to become a private investigator, I needed an assistant," said Mr Dumbledore. "Hagrid was available and willing, and I have to say I have not regretted for a moment taking him in. And so, we both manage quite well without being in a coven." He chuckled, then he looked at Holly again. "I wasn't aware you knew about the covens, though. How much _do_ you know about the witching world?"

"I know a bit," said Holly. "I know that covens are large witch families with one husband, many wives and many children. And that lots of witches are lesbians…" and then she remembered something. "Oh! Lily said to tell you that she knows you let her win that duel!"

That got their attention. Both Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid looked at her with raised eyebrows.

 _"Lily?!"_ said Hagrid. "How in the name o' Merlin did yeh…?!"

"I think," said Mr Dumbledore gently, "that you had better explain this a little closer. Please, have a seat."

Holly sat down in the offered chair.

"Now then," said Mr Dumbledore. "Please, tell us the entire story. How did you talk to Lily?"

And Holly told them. About the cupboard under the stairs that had called to her for as long as she could remember, about how she had met Ronnie who told her how to open the padlock, about the wand and how she'd fallen asleep and met Lily in her dreams. Both men listened intently — even the baby-girl-who-had-been-Dudley was looking at her with curious blue eyes.

When the story was done, Mr Dumbledore stroked his auburn beard thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "It seems that you have had one of the most unique introductions to the witching world I have heard of. But then, your situation is pretty unique in and of itself."

"But you believe me, right?" said Holly.

"Of course," said Mr Dumbledore. "I won't say I'm not surprised, though. I had no idea Lily was aware I let her win that duel; I thought my loss was quite convincing."

"How the devil… 'scuse my French, but how the _devil_ is she inside the wand now?" said Hagrid. "Never heard of _anything_ like that before!"

"Lily was an extraordinary witch," said Mr Dumbledore. "And that wand is an extraordinary wand. Speaking of which… Holly, may I see it for a moment?"

Holly nodded and held out her wand.

Mr Dumbledore gently took it and he held it up. "Yes, I would recognise this wand among thousands of others. There has never been a wand quite like it… and probably never will be. If Lily wanted to leave part of herself behind to watch over her daughter… Well, this is the wand that could help her do it."

"So… it's a good wand then?" said Holly, a little hesitantly. "Lily didn't really say anything about it, only that it used to be hers and now it's mine…"

"It's more than a good wand," said Mr Dumbledore. "It has a long and very interesting history. One day I'll tell you all about it… for now, all I'll say it this: Take good care of it." He handed it back to Holly. "Look after your wand, and it will look after you in return. The day may come when it saves your life."

Holly clutched the wand. "I'll look after it," she promised. "Do you think Lily will talk to me again?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Mr Dumbledore. Then, somewhat thoughtfully, he added: "Though I wouldn't tell too many people about it, if I were you. It's common enough to dream about the dead, but this _is_ a somewhat unusual situation..."

Holly looked at the wand again. While it would have been interesting to find out more about it, there was another question that seemed a lot more important right now. "Mr Dumbledore," she said. "How did my parents die? I know it wasn't a car crash."

He paused for a bit, and then he nodded. "You do deserve to know."

One of the good things about Mr Dumbledore, Holly thought, was that unlike Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, he didn't get angry or blow you off if you asked him questions. He listened, and he took you seriously enough to have proper grown-up conversations with you.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I save some of the details for when you are older," he went on. "But the basic story is one that almost everyone in the witching world knows. In fact, you yourself are famous for your part in it."

"Famous? _Me?!"_ Holly blinked. "Because my parents are dead?!"

"Not exactly. It's a pretty long story. Hagrid — would you fetch us some hot chocolate?"

"Oh!" Hagrid suddenly brightened. "Chocolate! O' course, righ' on it! C'mon, Dudley, yeh can help me make it!"

"Wah-dah-dah!" the baby cheered, and then squealed in delight as he picked her up in one of his enormous hands and began moving for the door.

"Hagrid is good with chocolate," said Mr Dumbledore cheerfully as he turned back to Holly. "There's nothing like a cup of hot chocolate for long stories. Besides, I have the feeling that some chocolate might speed up your cousin's recovery."

"That's good," said Holly, but and found that she meant it — even if there was a slight twinge of regret. Dudley's disposition was so much sunnier and sweeter like this — whether it was because he was currently a baby, or because he was currently a girl, or a combination of the two, she didn't know. This was a Dudley she could have loved… She shoved the thought away. No point in thinking about it.

"Now then," said Mr Dumbledore. "How much did Lily tell you?"

"Not that much," said Holly. "She said she and my Dad were killed by some man named Tom Riddle, because he wanted… something. Was he a wizard too?"

"One of the worst," said Mr Dumbledore. "Or one of the best, depending on how you look at it. He was certainly a very powerful wizard… did things that nobody else could. Unfortunately, he also did things that nobody ever _should."_

"Like what?"

"Well… I think, before we get to the story of your parents, I need to tell you a little about Tom Riddle, who he was and why he did what he did. This is a pretty dark story, so let me know if it gets too much for you."

"I'm not scared!" said Holly immediately.

"A lot of people in the witching world _were_ , when he was at large," said Mr Dumbledore. "Do you know what a terrorist is, Holly?"

"Er…" Holly thought for a moment. "It's someone who blows up buildings, hijacks planes, and kills people?"

"That's a little simplified, but for the purpose of the argument, it's a good definition," Mr Dumbledore decided. "Well, Tom Riddle was what we might call a wizard terrorist, though he himself claimed to be a revolutionary. He wanted to change the witching world, turn it into a place more to his own liking. Understandable enough, perhaps, but he decided that the best way to do that was to kill a lot of people.

"You see, like most terrorists, Riddle had a goal: He wanted to get rid of the coven system. He really hated the thought of having to start a coven."

"But he didn't have to _kill_ people for that!" said Holly. "If he didn't like the covens, couldn't he just do what my parents did and not join one? Or you and Hagrid? Lily _said_ you could say no to joining a coven…"

"Oh, you can," Mr Dumbledore agreed. "But saying no comes with a price, especially for wizards. If a _witch_ decides she doesn't want to be in a coven… that she would rather focus on her career, or chooses a Muggle man, or is — as you say — a lesbian… nobody will mind. But a _wizard_ who says he does not want a coven… because there are so few wizards to begin with, he's not going to make himself very popular with that choice.

"Now, it was really this last part that Tom Riddle had a problem with. He claimed that the covens were designed to keep wizards under the thumb of witches… not to mention, they unfairly favoured witches who were in some way seen as 'better catches.' The rich and powerful, not to mention the beautiful. Those witches never lacked for attention or covens to join. The plain and the poor tended to get bypassed, even if they wanted a coven. And of course, there were the non-humans or half-humans, who weren't allowed to join covens, even if they wanted to, and who had fewer rights and less privileges because of it…

"Riddle ended up with a lot of followers. Most of them were people who likewise got a bad deal of the coven system or felt unfairly treated by the witching world at large… but there were those who joined him just for the chance of some power, or because they just felt like blowing up buildings and killing people. And Riddle gave them ample opportunity to do just that.

"For more than ten years, Riddle and his followers terrorised the witching world. They had an uncanny way of showing up out of nowhere, wreak a lot of destruction, and then vanish again before anyone could do anything. And even if Riddle did stay to fight… he occasionally did, probably just to show how powerful he was… he never got hurt. People started to call him _'The Man Who Couldn't Die,'_ because he survived things that would have killed anyone else. Up to and including having his head chopped off with a sword."

Holly nodded slowly. She was only just starting to discover the world of magic; a few days ago she wouldn't have thought anyone could have opened a padlock by blowing on it, or changed an eight-year-old boy to a baby girl either, so the fact that someone could survive having their head chopped off seemed reasonable… but from the way Mr Dumbledore spoke, this seemed to be a rare thing even with magic.

"It got harder and harder to find a safe place, because Riddle and his followers could turn up just about anywhere at a moment's notice. There are spells and magical charms that can stop intruders, but normal magical protections meant nothing to Riddle. No-one ever found out just how they did it… most people agree that he was using some secret magics known only to him. The only places he could never reach were the ones that were guarded by elves or nymphs."

"Elves and nymphs!" Holly exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the tale of horror at this new piece of information. "They exist too?"

"Oh, yes," Mr Dumbledore confirmed. "Many of the creatures that Muggles only know from fairy-tales do exist. Elves, nymphs, dwarfs, giants, centaurs… unfortunately, Riddle managed to get many of them on his side. He got most of the vampires, the werewolves, the giants, the hags, the goblins, the Veela…"

"Veela?"

"Beautiful women who look human but turn into monstrous bird-people when they get angry," said Mr Dumbledore. "I don't know what Riddle offered them, but he was good at making promises to his followers. He never got any of the elves or the nymphs, though. There was nothing he could offer that they were interested in, and their protective magics were among the few things his own powers, secret or otherwise, could not penetrate. Which was why so many witches sought their protection."

Mr Dumbledore paused for a very brief moment, as if he was remembering something. "And then there were your parents. At the time, they didn't seem like they were in particular danger from Riddle… after all, he mainly went after the covens. And as you know, your parents weren't in a coven."

At that moment, the story was momentarily interrupted by Hagrid, who came back in through the door. In one enormous hand he was carrying a thrilled baby-girl-who-used-to-be-Dudley, and on the other he was balancing a tray with four steaming, pink mugs; two normal-sized, one very big, and one about half-size, with double handles. "Got the chocolate!" he said cheerfully.

"You are a treasure, Hagrid," said Mr Dumbledore. "Sit down, and make sure Dudley is comfortable. I'm just getting to the part where Tom Riddle attacked Lily and James."

 _"Already?"_ Hagrid blinked. "Blimey, we weren't gone _that_ long. how much did yeh leave out?"

"Enough to fill several books," said Mr Dumbledore. "But I find it's best to understand the basic story first, and then details can come later. Try the chocolate, Holly, before I continue."

"Thank you." Holly accepted one of the steaming mugs and blew on the hot liquid before taking a careful sip.

The taste almost exploded in her mouth. Aunt Petunia sometimes made cocoa for Dudley, and allowed Holly to have whatever was left of it after her cousin had his second cup, but this was ten times better. It was rich and sweet and creamy, and she had to stop herself from downing it all in one large gulp.

"This is the best cocoa I've ever tasted," she breathed.

"Glad ter hear it," Hagrid chuckled. "Bu' this isn't cocoa. It's _chocolate."_

Holly blinked. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not at all," Mr Dumbledore said. "Not a bad word about cocoa, mind you; it can be quite nice on a cold day. Even those instant synthetic powder drinks one usually gets nowadays aren't _completely_ without their charm. But _real_ hot chocolate, Holly, that's something entirely different." His voice turned nearly poetic. "Quality dark chocolate and milk chocolate, carefully melted together in roughly equal amounts, and mixed with warm milk. _That's_ what we serve in this house."

"Aye-yie-yuh!" said the baby-girl-who-had-been-Dudley. She was stretching out and trying to reach the mugs that Hagrid had placed on the table.

"Bit too hot fer yeh yet," said Hagrid gently, pushing the mugs a little farther away.

The Dudley Holly knew would have thrown a temper tantrum or at least started whining when not immediately getting his way. The baby girl just looked at Hagrid with big, blue eyes, before sitting down and starting to suck her thumb again.

"Good things are worth waiting for," said Mr Dumbledore. He turned back to Holly. "Now — where were we?"

"You were talking about my parents and how they weren't in a coven."

"Oh, yes. Well, luckily not everyone who disliked or just wanted no part of the coven system went the terrorist route. Lily and James simply decided to, as Lily put it, 'get married, Muggle-style,' and not bother too much about what everyone else thought."

"And you helped them, right?" said Holly. "Lily said they'd never have been able to get married if not for you."

"Did she, now?" Mr Dumbledore actually looked surprised at this. "I'd say that's a bit of an exaggeration. As someone who never fit in with the system myself, I've always tried my best to help other people who didn't — but in the case of your parents I barely did anything. I talked to a few people, nothing more."

"Ah, don' yeh listen to him," said Hagrid. "James's family were talkin' about disowning him if he didn' _'see sense'_ an' get five or six wives like everyone else. It was Albus who talked 'em out of it. An' James who'd barely set foot in the Muggle world, didn' have the necessary papers in order ter get married the Muggle way, an' Albus was the one who fixed all that."

"I really didn't do anything they couldn't have done for themselves," said Mr Dumbledore. "I just happen to know a lot of people that could help make things pass a little more smoothly, that's all. Anyway, it really has nothing to do with this story.

"As I said, at first there was no reason to believe Lily and James were in any particular danger from Tom Riddle. There was a chance he would try to sway them over to his side like he had done with so many others, but there was nothing to indicate that they would be major targets.

"But then… they had only been married for a couple of years, and you were about a year old… At the time I was doing my best to help stop Riddle. And one of the things I had managed was to get a spy in on his side. Well, this spy contacted me and said that Riddle was going to attack Lily and James. I knew they would need my help, so I immediately left for their house.

"I sometimes wonder what might have happened if I'd got the information sooner, or been a little quicker." He sighed. "But I suppose it doesn't really do any good pondering what _might_ have been. Riddle got there before me."

"And… he'd already killed my parents?" said Holly.

"Well…" Mr Dumbledore looked solemn. "That is where the story takes an unexpected turn. James was dead when I arrived, but Lily was still alive. Fighting against Riddle. At the other end of the room I saw you, lying on the floor — luckily, you were just asleep and not dead. I think you had been hit by a sleep spell, and Lily was trying to shield you. Using the very wand you are now holding in your hand, in fact."

Holly looked at the wand again. She felt a weird sensation in her stomach, a sort of a mix between awe and regret. This wand had defended her against a wizard terrorist…

"Lily didn't even seem surprised to see me," Mr Dumbledore continued. "She just screamed at me to take you and get you out. Unfortunately, that moment's distraction was all Riddle needed to send off a curse directed at you.

"To this day, I don't truly know why he chose to use that moment's distraction to target you instead of Lily, or even me. One would think that out of the three of us, a sleeping one-year-old would be the one posing the least threat to him. But he seemed determined that whatever else happened, you were not going to survive that night.

"But — and here is the main reason why you have become famous — the curse did not kill you. I had seen Tom Riddle cast that particular curse several times. Whoever he hit with that curse always died instantly… until he tried to curse you. In your case, the curse only graced you, and only left one mark..."

Holly lifted her hand to touch her stomach. Through her shirt she could feel the familiar form of a lightning bolt. "My scar," she said.

Mr Dumbledore nodded. "Yes," he said gently. "That's no ordinary scar on your stomach. It's the mark that a very powerful wizard tried to kill you and failed. You are the only person in living memory to survive that particular curse. That's why the witching world gave you the name _'The Impossible Child.'_ "

There was a brief moment of silence as this sank in. Holly traced the contours of her scar through her shirt. She'd always known there was something special about that scar, but _this..._

"What happened to Tom Riddle?" she finally said. "And to Lil — to my Mum?" (The word still felt weird in her mouth, but somehow this seemed like a time to ignore the weird sensation and use it anyway.)

"That," said Mr Dumbledore, "is the second reason why you are famous among witches. You see, when the curse failed to kill you, it fell back on Tom Riddle. He tried to block it, but Lily was on him, and they were both engulfed in green fire. Lily once more screamed for me to get you to safety. I knew from experience that I would not be able to put out the fire in time, and that I only had seconds to act. So I did as she said, grabbed you and Apparated out of the house. Just in time too, because just as soon as we were out…"

"What?"

"The house exploded."

 _"Exploded?!"_

"The house and everything in it. James's body, Lily and Tom Riddle… all gone. But we lived, and without a scratch… well, apart from the cut on your forehead."

Holly let out the breath she'd been holding. She suddenly realised she had forgotten about her half-finished hot chocolate, so she took a big gulp of it, put the cup down on the table and looked at Mr Dumbledore. "You saved my life."

"I think Lily saved your life more than I did," he answered. "Something she did… I'm still not completely sure what… caused Riddle's lethal curse to fail and fall back on him. Unfortunately, it cost her her own life."

Holly wasn't certain what to say. She had often wondered about her parents. She'd known they were dead, of course — that had always just been a plain fact of life that there was nothing to be done about. But she had wondered what they were like… they had to have been better than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. But she'd never dreamed that they would have such a _dramatic_ story behind them. Getting married even if society itself didn't want them to, being the targets of a magical terrorist, and then dying while protecting her. And blowing up their house, and the terrorist, in the process. And for all these years, she hadn't known anything about it.

"It's a lot to take in, I know," said Mr Dumbledore gently.

"Yeah…" Holly looked down at her wand. "But… But Lily is still around, right? She's right here. She's not _alive_ , but… Wait!" She blinked. "Does that mean Tom Riddle is still around somewhere too?! He had a wand, right? Maybe _he's_ haunting _that_ wand!"

Mr Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "We never found his wand," he said. "In fact, the only thing we found in the rubble that had survived the explosion completely intact was Lily's wand. Or _your_ wand, now. But," he continued, "I think you might be right. Most of the witching world think that Tom Riddle is dead and gone forever; they've been hailing you as a sort of hero because you were the one who made his curse fail and ultimately defeat him. But I have always suspected he wasn't completely gone. Now that I know that Lily isn't, I'm more certain than ever that Tom Riddle is still out there somewhere."

"Got ter be powerful reduced, though," said Hagrid, who hadn't spoken in a while. "Reckon he's out there somewhere, too weak ter carry on. Summat happened to him, cause his followers lost a lotta their power after that day. Without him, they couldn't come an' go anywhere they liked anymore, became a lot more vulnerable. 'Sides. A lotta them kinda came outta trances, they'd been placed under spells an' curses to make 'em loyal followers, bu' without Riddle ter keep the spells goin', they broke free. Don' reckon they could've done that if Riddle wasn' at least near-death himself."

"Aaaa-bwoeh!" said the baby-girl-who-had-been-Dudley. She had been sitting there silently and sucking her thumb for a while, but now she seemed to decide that enough was enough. She grasped for the small mug of chocolate on the table.

"All righ'," said Hagrid. "Reckon it should be cold enough now… here yeh go."

"Tah," said the baby girl. She held the mug in both hands and began drinking noisily.

"What about the spy?" Holly suddenly said. "The one who told you that Tom Riddle was going to attack my parent. What happened to him?"

 _"Her,"_ Mr Dumbledore corrected. "And I wish I knew. She vanished, and I never found out what happened to her. But, as Hagrid said… Riddle's followers were reduced. Even the ones who followed him willingly only had a fraction of the power they once had. Most of them were arrested and sent to prison shortly after. It's not unthinkable that one of them got to the spy and killed her out of revenge."

"That's sad," said Holly.

Mr Dumbledore nodded. "It is."

All of a sudden, there was a half-choked gasp of surprise where the baby girl was drinking her chocolate.

Holly turned to see that the baby was growing rapidly. Her hair shortened, her face morphed and her belly expanded as her arms and legs grew longer. The orange baby overall thankfully expanded at the same time, and so — just seconds later — where the baby girl had been sitting, there was now the familiar form of Dudley. Wearing an oversized orange baby overall and a shocked look on his face.

"Ah," said Mr Dumbledore calmly. "I hoped Hagrid's chocolate would help speed up your recovery. Welcome back, Dudley. How are you feeling?"

Dudley blinked. Then he threw the empty mug down onto the floor and jumped to his feet, pointed a shaking, furious finger at Holly. _"YOU!"_ he roared. "You turned me into a baby! A baby _girl!"_

Holly instinctively cowered. "I didn't mean to!" she defended herself. And felt a pang of regret that the adorable baby girl was gone. This had been such a pleasant visit too… well, all right, not _pleasant_. It hadn't been _pleasant_ to hear about her parents' deaths or Tom Riddle. But it had been fascinating to learn about everything, and there was so much more she wanted to know. Not to mention — having a long talk with Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid, and being treated like someone worth talking seriously to, had made her feel quite grown-up. But with Dudley back and screaming his head off, it looked like the talk was over.

"You're a _freak!_ You're a bigger freak than I ever knew! Mum and Dad are going to _kill_ you!" Dudley raged, clearly back to his old loathable self again, even if he seemed far less intimidating dressed in a baby overall. "They're going to _kill_ you! And I'm going to _watch_ , and I'm going to _LAUGH!"_

"I don' think that'll happen," said Hagrid firmly.

But Dudley wasn't listening. "And — and — and _you_ two!" He glared madly at both Hagrid and Mr Dumbledore, so angry that he was shaking and stammering. "You're — you're even bigger freaks! I'm going to tell Mum and Dad everything, and, and they'll call the police, and you'll be thrown in jail! And — and — and — Holly's going to do all my homework for the next year!"

"What? No, I'm not!"

"We had a deal!" Dudley screamed, oblivious to what he'd just ruined for her. "You said you would do it! You _owe_ it to me!"

"You said you wouldn't make a deal!" Holly raised her voice to a near-scream. "I don't owe you anything!"

 _"You turned me into a baby!"_

 _"You deserved it!"_

"Excuse me. If I might say something?" Mr Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but something about it made both Holly and Dudley stop screaming and turn to look at him. "Thank you. I get that you're upset, Dudley. But this isn't getting us anywhere productive. So, I suggest that instead of wasting a lot of time screaming at one another, we sit down and make a deal."

"A deal?" Holly and Dudley chorused.

"Yes. Dudley — this bullying of your cousin has got to stop. It's unacceptable."

"Mum and Dad don't think I'm doing anything wrong!" said Dudley, perhaps a little too hurriedly.

"This is, unfortunately, true. But while I could never make _them_ listen to me, I did hold out hope that _you_ might be more reasonable. While it's a good thing to honour our parents, I've learned long ago that you don't have to follow them in everything."

Holly had to bite her lip not to laugh out loud at the idea of Dudley being reasonable.

"I'd also ask you to consider," Mr Dumbledore continued, "Not only is it a risky business to bully an untrained witch… magic might flare up and do worse than just turn you into a baby for a little while… but it's also an appalling way to treat a family member."

Dudley looked at him, and then for some reason looked down. "She's just my stupid freak cousin," he said in a low, sullen voice. "She's not _family."_

"Liked yeh better as a baby girl," Hagrid muttered.

Mr Dumbledore, however, didn't change his tone at all. "Well, then," he said. "If familial bonds won't make you treat your cousin better, what will?"

There was a clear struggle on Dudley's face. But once again, his greed won. "I'll leave her alone if she does all my homework for a year. No, for _two_ years. _Three_ years!"

Mr Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that is unacceptable. You're asking too much and giving too little in return. Besides, you really should do your own homework, Dudley. It may not be fun, but you'll be glad later on that you put in the work."

Dudley snorted. "Yeah, right. "

"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," said Mr Dumbledore. "But it's true. Nevertheless, I think I have a better offer. Please, have a seat."

Dudley looked suspiciously at him. "If Mum and Dad find out I'm gone, they won't stop looking for me!" he warned.

"Oh. I would say your father's afternoon nap will last for a while yet, as will your mother's television shows," said Mr Dumbledore cheerily. "We'll have you both back home safe and sound before either of them begin to worry. Now, let me tell you my suggestion…"


	8. Books and Baby-Prudes

**A/N:** Okay, new plan: Chapters come out when they come out. Fanfic just can't be a huge priority, so I'll write when I can.

You might notice that I refer to Hermione as black in this chapter (and if you've seen my HP/Witching World art, you'll know that I draw her as black too). That's because, well, when I originally read the first three books, before the movies and _long_ before the entire _Cursed Child_ debacle and "JKR is just pretending to be woke!" thing that people are on about now, I envisioned Hermione as black. So, since this is a blatant AU anyway, I've decided that no matter what Hermione's "true" canon skin colour is, in _this_ universe she's mixed-race (black father, white mother). It's not going to come up a whole lot, but it will be mentioned once or twice… just so you know.

Oh, and there's a couple of paragraphs here from _Matilda_ by Roald Dahl. If you haven't read that book, I can recommend it!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8: Books and Baby-Prudes**

* * *

 _SPLASH!_

It had been raining all night, the water puddles on the ground were quite large, and Hermione didn't even have time to scream before she was lying on her stomach in the largest of them. The laughter of the other children rang in her ears as the cold water soaked through her clothes.

"Oh dear," came a sweet-sounding voice from above. "Are you all right?"

Hermione looked up into the pale but pretty face of Sirena Engleby, whose mask of innocent concern couldn't quite hide her obvious _schadenfreude._ Nor could it erase Hermione's memories of the hands that had pushed her from behind.

"But how clumsy you are…tripping over your own feet like that," the girl cooed in a horrible, faux-motherly tone. "Let me help you up…"And before Hermione could respond, Sirena grabbed her and unceremoniously hauled her back onto her feet.

Hermione breathed heavily. She looked at the other children gathered around her. Some of them were still laughing, others were like Sirena and were trying (and failing) to look concerned. She tried not to let her humiliation show, but this was hard when her soaked shirt and shorts were clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Instead she snapped her head back towards Sirena, who was looking at her expectantly.

"What?" she demanded.

"Thank you, Sirena," said Sirena pointedly. "Thank you for pulling me back onto my feet after I clumsily fell down."

Hermione was about to answer, but was interrupted by Mr Aston, the instructor, as he came running up.

"Is everything all right here?" he said. He sounded half concerned and half annoyed. "Hermione, what happened?"

"She fell in a puddle and I helped her up," said Sirena. "Right, Hermione?"

Hermione caught the hidden threat in her voice, but she had never been one to let herself be kowtowed that easily. She looked straight into Mr Aston's eyes. "Mr Aston, I didn't fall. Sirena pushed me."

"I never did!" Sirena's fake innocent indignation was pretty good. "I was just trying to help you! It's not _my_ fault you can't walk two steps without falling over!"

"Settle down," said Mr Aston. The annoyance was definitely overtaking the concern as he looked at the children around them. "What happened?"

"Hermione fell," said Sirena's friend Liv, and several of the girls nodded.

"That's rubbish!" said one of the boys in the back of the small crowd. "Sirena pushed her. I saw it!"

"Oh, _you_ saw something, Dean?" said Liv acidly. "How did you manage that when you never look up from that sketchbook of yours! Are you in _love_ with Hermione or something?"

"All right, that's enough!" Mr Aston barked. "Hermione, go change out of those wet clothes. Sirena, I want a word with you."

Hermione ignored the hateful look that Sirena shot her and ran off. Lucky that Mr Aston hadn't told her to be quick about it; now she could take her time and be alone for a bit.

This was her sixth day at Keywater Activity Camp (for British Campers Aged 7-17). She'd have to suffer through eight more days before her parents came to take her home.

She hadn't exactly been thrilled at the idea of going to summer camp in the first place, but she understood why her parents had sent her. The house renovations were taking longer than expected, and of course they'd get a lot more done without an eight-year-old girl around.

Of course, she'd have been happier if they'd signed her up for something _sensible_ , like a Junior Academic course where she could actually _learn_ something… but there had been a lot of talk about summer camps in the media lately. Childcare experts were praising the American tradition of summer camps and were saying how (as long as British conditions like shorter summer holidays and unpredictable weather were met), a week or two at a residential summer camp would bring "character-building and developmental benefits." Which was exactly what Keywater Activity Camp (for British Campers Aged 7-17) was promising in its brochures, along with _"team activities, outdoors adventures and building friendships, all done in a fun and positive environment."_

Hermione knew that her parents sometimes worried that she didn't get along with other children her age. She didn't really see the point in worrying about this, since she was also the top of nearly every class in school except PE… but she was a good daughter and so she hadn't raised too many protests as they had signed her up for Keywater Activity Camp (for British Campers Aged 7-17). Besides, despite the lack of an academic angle, this particular camp was held on and around the ground of Keywater School, an old and prestigious boarding school near Brighton. The school was closed for the summer, of course, which was why it was hosting a summer camp to begin with... but getting to see a prestigious boarding school from the inside would at least hold some interest. Especially since there was a very large school library there…

It had been a huge disappointment to find out (after she had kissed her parents goodbye and watch them drive off) that the library was _also_ closed for the summer and that campers did not have access to it. Even during the rainy afternoons that in Hermione's opinion were _made_ for exploring libraries or at least curling up with a good book.

An even bigger disappointment had involved Sirena Engleby. The older girl had seemed perfectly pleasant at first, not to mention she was very pretty with her long, silky black hair and heart-shaped face… but she quickly turned to be far less pretty on the inside. She delighted in small cruelties, and had quickly chosen Hermione as her favourite target. It had started as small, passive-aggressive insults about Hermione's unmanageable bushy hair and large front teeth, but now she had worked her way up to "accidentally" pushing Hermione into rain puddles.

There was of course a chance that the talk with Mr Aston would convince her to back off, but somehow, Hermione doubted it.

Now, she had reached Birch House. One funny little detail about Keywater was that all the buildings were named for trees, even though they were all mainly made out of stone. Birch House was the building where the girls' dormitories were located, a stone's throw away from Fir House, which housed the boys' dormitories. (Where transgender or intersex children went, or even if Keywater accounted for them, Hermione didn't know.)

She was about to enter the building when she heard a loud "Hey! Hermione!" behind her.

She turned around somewhat tentatively, half-expecting some kind of trouble, but she was relieved to discover that it was only Dean Thomas, the boy who had spoken up on her behalf.

Hermione only vaguely knew Dean, but she did know he had never been one of her tormentors, nor had he been among the ones who laughed when Sirena tried to tease or humiliate. He was about Hermione's age, but much taller and (she supposed) fairly good-looking, and he seemed to spend most of his time on the sidelines, usually drawing something in his sketchbook.

"Hey," he said as he came to a halt next to her. "Just thought you should know… Sirena's pretty angry with you. Didn't appreciate having to have that talk with Mr Aston. She's going to try and take revenge."

"I sort of guessed from the look she gave me," said Hermione. "Thanks for the warning, though. And thanks for… you know, for telling Mr Aston."

He shrugged. "I'm not usually a tattler, but Sirena had it coming."

"Won't she be angry with you too, though?"

"Probably, but she can't do anything to me," said Dean in a self-assured voice. "She may be older than me, but I'm stronger than her, and I'm hard to sneak up on. Besides, I know a few tricks."

"Tricks?" Hermione repeated.

"Yep, so she won't lay a finger on me," said Dean, but didn't elaborate. "It's _you_ who should be worried. I mean, you even live in the same building as her."

"But not on the same floor," said Hermione, and hoped she sounded as self-assured as Dean did. "Thank you, Dean, but I can take care of myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going inside to dry off and get changed. No boys allowed at Birch House, you know."

"Oh, er, right." Dean seemed to only now remember that she was still soaked. "See you later then."

Hermione left him and hurried inside.

Birch House had two floors, each floor hosting five separate dormitories, a common room, and a common bathroom with toilets and shower stalls. Hermione's dormitory, which she shared with four other girls around her age, was located on the ground floor. A nice enough room, though as an only child Hermione was still not quite used to having to share her living space. It was especially awkward when undressing for bed or using the shower, especially since some of those other girls had no body modesty at all… but of course, right now, with everyone else gone and Birch House empty, it somehow felt a little more welcoming. Certainly more peaceful.

This suited Hermione fine; now she could change into her dry clothes in peace and quiet… and, since she still had some time before lunch, she could sneak in a bit of reading at the same time.

She entered the dormitory. It was light and airy, with tall windows, desks and cupboards; during the school year they were used by whatever students were attending Keywater School, but for now it all belonged to the campers.

Hermione made certain the door was closed before she stripped out of her wet clothes, folded them together and placed them in the laundry basket by the foot of her bed. It felt nice to get out of those soaked rags… and it felt even nicer to be able to put on some fresh, lovely dry clothes. Yellow t-shirt, blue shorts… that worked.

Barefoot, she sat down on her bed and reached for her backpack.

Hermione had several curious abilities when it came to books. One of them was the ability to fit an uncanny number of them into any small space. This particular backpack shouldn't logically have had room for more than, say, ten books, but Hermione had managed to pack thirty. It was just something she could do. Backpacks, suitcases, even bookshelves… she didn't know how, but if she _wanted_ a book to fit, it _did._

Maybe it had something to do with her passion for the written word. Her parents may be worried that Hermione spent more time with her nose in a book than playing with other children, but it was when she was reading that Hermione truly felt _alive_. Fiction or non-fiction, children's books or books for adults, it didn't matter… books spoke to Hermione in a way that people did not.

The book she pulled out now was one of her favourites: _Matilda_ , by Roald Dahl. It was a wonderful story about a genius little girl who gets even with her nasty parents and tyrant of a Headmistress. Hermione identified strongly with Matilda… well, all right, the school she went to was quite nice, and she had kind and loving (if often very busy) parents, and unlike Matilda she couldn't quite do sums in her head like a calculator. But she felt, oh how much, Matilda's passion for books and reading, not to mention her unbridled curiosity when it came to learning new things.

She opened the book, and after a moment's searching found the place where she'd left off. It was the part where Matilda first discovered her strange supernatural powers.

 _And now, quite slowly,_ (Hermione read) _there began to creep over Matilda a most extraordinary and peculiar feeling. The feeling was mostly in the eyes. A kind of electricity seemed to be gathering inside them. A sense of power was brewing in those eyes of hers, a feeling of great strength was settling itself deep inside her eyes. But there was also another feeling which was something else altogether, and which she could not understand. It was like flashes of lightning. Little waves of lightning seemed to be flashing out of her eyes. Her eyeballs were beginning to get hot, as though vast energy was building up somewhere inside them. It was an amazing sensation. She kept her eyes steadily on the glass, and now the power was concentrating itself in one small part of each eye and growing stronger and stronger and it felt as though millions of tiny little invisible arms with hands on them were shooting out of her eyes towards the glass she was staring at._

 _"Tip it!" Matilda whispered. "Tip it over!"_

 _She saw the glass wobble. It actually tilted backwards a fraction of an inch, then righted itself again. She kept pushing at it with all those millions of invisible little arms and hands that were reaching out from her eyes, feeling the power that was flashing straight from the two little black dots in the very centres of her eyeballs…_

Just then, the book was torn out of Hermione's hands, yanking her back to reality. "Pay attention, Hermione!" a voice sounded.

She look up to see Sirena Engleby, together with Liv and two other girls. Sirena was holding the book high with a look of triumph on her face.

"And _now_ she notices we're here!" she said. "All these books aren't good for you, Hermione! I think you have some horrible allergy to books or something. The moment you have one in your hands, you go blind and deaf! You didn't hear anything I said, did you?"

The other three girls laughed. It was clear that Sirena was enjoying the attention.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. "I heard every word, actually!" she snapped. "I just don't answer when people are rude!"

"Oh, you heard me, did you?" Sirena laughed. "What did I say, then? If you can repeat exactly what I said, you can have your book back."

Hermione glared at her. And then recited: "Oh, there you are, Hermione. I want a word with you about what happens to tattletales. Hermione, it's rude to ignore people when they're talking to you. Stop reading and look at me, Hermione! Hermione? Pay attention, Hermione!"

Sirena and the three other girls gaped at her.

This was another one of Hermione's book-related abilities: She could pay attention and _not_ pay attention at the same time. Even when deeply absorbed in a book she always heard everything that was said to her, and could even flawlessly recite it afterwards, even if the words didn't actually reach her brain. It was an ability she'd been grateful for more than once.

A burst of laughter sounded from just outside the room. "She got you! She got you _good!"_

Everyone turned to the open doorway, where Dean stood, laughing and pointing at Sirena.

"Dean!" Sirena yelled angrily. "Get out of here! No boys at Birch House!"

"But bullies are okay, are they?" said Dean. "Go on, give her the book back!"

"I knew you were in love with her!" said Liv. "You know you wouldn't fit together. You're not a book and she's not a sketchpad."

Dean gave her a look. "Really. That's the insult you're going with. Come on, my baby sister could think up a better insult than that, and she's not even two years old."

"Stop embarrassing yourself Liv," Sirena sighed. "Don't bother. We have better things to do than banter with _children_ anyway. Come on, let's just go tell the instructors that Dean decided to sneak into Birch House. Here's your book back, Hermione." She held out the book to Hermione…

…and then hit her on the head with it.

It didn't hurt, not really, but something snapped inside Hermione. All of a sudden, she felt… _weird_. It was like a strange kind of electric heat was welling up inside her, trying to escape through her eyes. The world was a blur around her and time seemed to slow down as she lifted her head and stared hard at Sirena.

Sirena's eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, and then froze completely. She stood perfectly still, stiff and unblinking, like she was a video recording that someone had decided to put on pause.

Hermione snapped out of her weird trance to realise that Sirena really had gone stiff like a statue. She stood frozen and unmoving, her eyes staring blankly out at the world. She was breathing, Hermione could tell, but otherwise she looked to be completely frozen in position.

"Sirena?" Liv waved a hand in front of Sirena's face, to no avail. "Sirena, what happened? What did you _do_ to her?" She turned on Hermione, anger and panic on her face. _"What did you do to her?!"_

"I – " Hermione began. And stopped. What _had_ she done?

"She's not moving! She's not…" Liv's voice started as a high-pitched and panicked scream, but then and without warning sank to a soft and drowsy murmur. "She's not… she's not… ah… I don't know what… ahh… dunno what's goin' on…" Her eyes drooped.

Hermione could only stare as the girl swayed back and forth.

"Dunno wass gooin'… ah-h-h-hh…" With that, Liv's eyes closed, and she sank down onto Hermione's bed. "No… I… ahh…. zzzz…" She was snoring lightly even before her head hit the soft mattress.

Startled, Hermione scampered to her feet, and then saw that the other two girls had gone limp as well, and had dropped to the floor like a couple of rag dolls.

Only Dean was still on his feet. He looked agitated, but not surprised.

"What… _what's happening?"_ Hermione tried to keep her voice from turning into a shrill scream. "Why is… I mean, how… _what's going on?!"_

Instead of answering, Dean raised a hand to point at Sirena, who was still like a statue and not reacting to anything. "Did you do that?"

"Did I do _what?!_ No, of course I didn't –" Hermione stopped her panicked tirade before it even begun. That strange feeling inside her, the weir way time had seemed to slow down… Her initial sense of panic was starting to fade, replaced with a sense of awed confusion. "Actually…" she heard herself say. "Actually, I think I did. I don't know how… but I _must_ have."

"Because _I_ did _that."_ Dean pointed at Liv and the other girls, who all seemed to have slipped into a deep sleep.

"But how…" Hermione began.

"No idea," Dean said. "Look, I… I can sometimes put people to sleep, all right? I have three younger sisters and they sometimes get annoying and… sometimes I can make them fall asleep." He pointed at the frozen Sirena. "And it looks like _you_ can freeze people by wanting it."

"But this is stupid!" Hermione protested. "It shouldn't be possible to make people just fall asleep like that, or freeze them, or…"

"I know it shouldn't be possible," said Dean. "But fact is that three girls are asleep, and I know I did it. And one girl is impersonating a statue, and you know you did it."

"Wait… was this what you meant when you said you knew a few tricks?" said Hermione. "Is it… is it some kind of hypnosis?"

"I think it's some kind of magic," said Dean.

"Magic?" Despite herself, Hermione scoffed. "Don't be silly. Magic is just superstition. It's just a term people use to explain away things they don't understand…"

"Oh, stop talking like a grown-up," Dean said with a frown. _"It's just your imagination, Dean. Don't tell stories, Dean. There's a natural explanation for everything, Dean._ I get enough of that from my parents!"

"But it _can't –"_

"How did it feel?"

"What?"

"How did it feel, when you made Sirena freeze up?"

"I…" Hermione paused and tried to recall the moment, before the confusion and panic. "I don't know, it felt like… it felt weird. Like nothing I'd ever felt before, really. But it also felt… it also felt… good?" Trying to put words around it, she could hear how silly it sounded.

"Like your insides were on fire, except not in a bad way," said Dean. "Am I right?"

"Huh," said Hermione. "I… yes. Well, more like electricity than fire, really, but that's not a bad description."

"Because that's how I feel when I put people to sleep," said Dean. "Don't tell me that's just some kind of hypnosis! That's _magic!"_

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then stopped to think. Magic only existed in books, in fiction and legends; she'd known that for years. And yet… Her eyes fell on _Matilda_ , which was still firmly held in Sirena's frozen grip. She'd thought that book was just fiction too, but freezing the girl had felt almost exactly like Matilda's experience had been described. Was it _possible_ that things that everyone knew only existed in books… might actually exist in real life? The thought both excited and scared her. She lived in a world where it was possible to make people fall asleep or freeze in place just by _wanting_ it. And really, hadn't she already known that? For years she had been able to make dozens of books fit into spaces that should logically only fit six or seven. Wasn't that just as impossible, when you got down to it?

"All right," she said. "Let's call it magic, at least until we find out more about it."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

Hermione's initial panic had all but died down by now. All she felt was a burning curiosity; a need to find out more. "Well, if _we_ have these abilities, there _must_ be other people who do as well, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but I've never met any," said Dean. "Not before I met you. If you have any ideas on how to find these other people, let me know."

Hermione pondered. "There's not a lot we can find out while stuck here at camp. I wish we had access to the school library… or maybe even the computer lab. There must be a book, or at least a website, or… something about people turning into statues..." She looked at Sirena, still stiff like a statue, and then at the other girls, still sleeping peacefully. A slight feeling of concern welled up: she didn't like these girls, but having them sleep forever or remained permanently frozen seemed like it would be disproportionate retribution. "Do you think they're going to be okay?"

"Liv and the others should wake up in half an hour or so, and be just fine," said Dean. "My sisters always do. I can make them sleep for longer than that if I want, but it's usually just half an hour. As for Sirena… I don't know. She's breathing all right, she just isn't moving. Maybe you should try unfreezing her."

"How?"

"I don't know! You were the one who froze her in the first place! Just do what you did then, except backwards!"

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione took a long breath, and then stared deeply into Sirena's unmoving eyes. _Move,_ she thought, trying to summon up the weird feeling of electric heat. _Unfreeze. Wake up._

Nothing happened.

"I don't think I can do this," Hermione sighed. "I don't know how. If I had some kind of instructions to follow, or someone who could tell me what I was supposed to do…" She exchanged looks with Dean and knew they were thinking the same thing: The instructors and the other campers wouldn't be any help. Neither would it do much good to call their parents. That really only left one option… "We're going to have to check the school library. I'm rubbish with computers, but I'm good with books. Maybe there are some books on hypnosis or mysticism or _something_ that can explain what's going on."

"Not very likely, is it?" said Dean.

"No," she agreed, "but it's the only plan I have. We'll have to sneak into the library."

"Library's in Oak House, above the dining hall, and it'll be lunch soon," Dean pointed out. "How were you planning on getting past all the people?"

"Well…" Hermione sighed. This wasn't a very nice thing to do, but... "How many people do you think you could make fall asleep at once? And do you think you could teach me how to do it?"

* * *

"Oh, will you look at this," said Phoebe in an annoyed tone. "There's no way this was all accidental. Nobody could manage to knock out this many people accidentally."

All over the school grounds, Muggles were lying on the ground, all in a deep sleep. Boys and girls, small children and older teenagers, and a few scattered adults, all blissfully unconscious and unaware that the ground they were lying on was still wet after the night's heavy rain.

Careful of her pregnant belly (she was really feeling bloated these days!) Flora leaned over one of the smallest girls to make certain she was all right. Luckily, apart from having decided to take a nap in wet grass, the girl seemed quite healthy. "Hope they don't catch a cold," she said. "It's not like they have Pepper-up Potion here. Still… if I'd known everyone was asleep, I would have kept my green wig instead of putting on this dull brown one."

"Always one to focus on the unimportant details, aren't you?" Phoebe grumbled. "If I were you, I'd focus more on all the _work_ we have in front of us. A school full of Muggles to wake up from a magical sleep, make sure their clothes are clean and dry, and make sure none of them remembers being put to sleep in the first place… we'll be here for _hours._ All because some overeager little Baby-Prude discovered she could put people to sleep and decided to get _ambitious_ about it."

Flora straightened herself and shot Phoebe a dirty look. "Don't use that word."

"What _,_ 'Baby-Prude'? It's just an expression. It means a Prude who isn't old enough for Hogwarts yet."

"It's insulting! And frankly, it's more than a little disturbing," said Flora. "Calling Muggle-borns 'Prudes' is bad enough, but _'Baby-Prude'?_ That's just _icky."_

""You Yanks are more prudish than the Prudes are," Phoebe huffed. "One of my coven-wives is Muggle-born, and _she_ doesn't mind being called 'Prude.'"

"Well, one of _my_ coven-wives is Muggle-born too, and she _does_ mind," Flora countered. "Come _on,_ you're supposed to be working for the Muggle Liaison Office. If I have to say 'Muggle' instead of 'No-Maj,' the least you can do is say 'Muggle-born' instead of… that word!"

"The difference is that nobody here in the UK knows what a No-Maj is, while everyone knows what a Prude is," said Phoebe haughtily. "Speaking of which, we have a _Baby-Prude_ to find."

"Will you stop saying that?!"

"Will you stop looking for excuses to be offended? Come on!"

Flora bit back an acidic reply. Why couldn't she have been partnered with Mandy on this assignment? Her coven-wife was so much more understanding… not to mention, a lot more _professional_ about these things. Despite smart-looking business suits and Flora wearing her most mundane wig, she and Phoebe didn't come across as a very professional pair.

But then, professionalism was often an afterthought in the Muggle Liaison Office. Honest exceptions like Mandy aside, the entire Office was made up of witches who were either freshly out of Hogwarts and lacked the job experience to get a more substantial job, who simply didn't have the ambition to get a better job… or were just temporarily re-assigned while on break from more demanding jobs.

Flora belonged to this last category; for as long as she was pregnant her coven had _insisted_ that she take a break from her work with dragons and instead went for a safer and less strenuous job.

So she'd let herself be talked into joining the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, which was pretty much the least taxing job in the Ministry. Entire shifts could pass without anything happening, so you were free to just sit around and play cards or read Muggle crime novels. And even when there was an assignment, it was usually was just a matter of matter of finding a scared and confused young girl who had accidentally turned her annoying aunt purple or whatever, calm her down and reassure her that nothing was wrong with her, and then give her the standard "you're a witch, and yes, magic is real" speech, before reversing whatever accidental magic she'd done… and if you had children of your own (and Flora of course had twelve in her coven) reversing accidental magic was pretty much second nature and took very little effort.

Sometimes it could get a little tricky if there were a lot of Muggle witnesses who needed to either have their memories modified or be fed some cover-up story, but this didn't tend to be too much of a challenge either. As long as you took care to dress inconspicuously and didn't leave too many traces of magic around where the Muggles would find them, you were pretty much good.

The weird part was that… well, even though Flora missed her dragons and had every intention of going straight back to the Dragon Researchers once her daughter was born, and she was off maternity leave… she kind of liked meeting new Muggle-borns. There was something incredibly adorable about their reactions when they found out that magic was real. Flora, who had grown up around magic, could only imagine what it felt like to make that discovery.

It took a few minutes, but finally the location spells kicked in enough to inform Flora and Phoebe that the Muggle-born in question was located in the biggest building on campus… a large stone building that for some reason sported a sign over the entrance door saying _OAK._ It made a little more sense once you entered the building and stepped into the entrance hall. The exterior of the building was stone, but inside there was a lot of wood… wooden floors, wooden panels and a grand wooden staircase. Flora had no clue about different wood sorts, but it could very well be oak.

Flora and Phoebe made their way through the entrance hall, taking care to not step on any of the Muggle children who where sleeping on the floor, and up the wooden staircase.

Upstairs, at the end of a rather boring hallway, a pair of glass double doors led to what was obviously a library. Through the glass, behind tall bookshelves, it was possible to make out a moving figure. There, that would be the Muggle-born. Why she had decided to visit the library, Flora had no idea… she'd have to ask about that…. but then, she was surprised to see that there were _two_ figures moving behind the bookshelves.

"Hah!" said Phoebe, sounding oddly triumphant as they approached the doors. _"Two_ Baby-Prudes!"

"You're just doing it on purpose now," Flora sighed.

"Course I am, but that's not the point. If there are two of them, that goes a long way to explain how they could knock out all these Muggles. They teamed up!" She shrugged. "Oh well. Looks like we'll be giving the standard 'you're a witch' speech to two girls at the same time. That's convenient. Come on!"

They opened the door. Now, two hushed voices could be heard, one slightly deeper than the other:

"—don't think you'll find the answer in a children's book!"

"How do you know? Maybe the author has the same powers and wrote the book as a hint!"

"I'm telling you, we should look for books about mysticism and hypnosis, not fairy tales!"

"Fairy tales can be very – shh!" The deeper voice suddenly cut itself off. "Did you hear that?"

"It's all right, girls!" Flora spoke up, making certain her voice was calm and reassuring. "You're not in trouble. My name is Flora, and this is my colleague, Phoebe. I bet you have a lot of questions right now… we'll do our best to answer them. Please come out so we can talk."

Slowly, hesitantly, a girl of about eight stepped out from behind the bookshelf. She had brown skin, an unruly mop of frizzy hair, and large front teeth, and she was clearly trying to look like she wasn't scared at all. And right behind her –

Flora blinked.

"A boy?" Phoebe sounded about as astonished as Flora felt.

"Er… hi?" said the boy uncertainly. He was almost a head taller than the girl, and his skin was a shade or two darker brown than hers.

"I don't believe it!" said Phoebe. Her astonishment was quickly vanishing to be replaced with annoyance. "What are you two doing here? And what do you think you're doing, putting sleeping spells on an entire school of Muggles? Haven't your parents taught you anything? We thought there was a Baby-Prude here, someone who didn't know any better, but honestly! What coven do you belong to? Your parents are going to have to have a _serious_ talk with the Ministry – _did you just try to put a sleep spell on me?!"_ She looked at the boy, shocked and outraged.

"Er…" The boy just gaped at her.

"Isn't this _fucking_ typical!" Phoebe growled. "Whenever a coven gets a boy, they end up spoiling him, and he thinks he's allowed to do everything." She turned to the girl. "Young lady, what were you thinking, letting your brother run amok among Muggles?"

The girl, who had looked just as astonished as the boy, suddenly got an indignant look on her face. "He's not my brother!" she said. "What, just because we're both black, you think we're related?"

"Phoebe…" said Flora. "I don't think they belong to a coven. Either of them."

"What are you talking about?" the girl demanded. "What's a coven?"

"Don't be absurd," said Phoebe, though her voice was softer now, with a growing edge of unease. "Are you saying they're _both_ Muggle-borns? There hasn't been a male Muggle-born since… since Tom Riddle…" She trailed off and just stared.

As Phoebe's annoyance faded, the Muggle-born girl's annoyance seemed to rise. "Excuse me?" she said. "Hello? Could _someone_ explain what's going on here? You said you could answer questions! Well, I have questions!"

"Right. Sorry." Flora looked at the two children, trying to gather her thoughts. Of course. She couldn't let her own surprise and confusion get in the way of the most important part of this assignment. No matter the sex, there were still two confused Muggle-borns here who needed answers. It was just that the standard Muggle-born speech she'd had to memorise kind of escaped her mind at the moment. "Um. Sorry, what's your names?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," said the girl. "And this is my _friend,"_ (she stressed that particular word) "Dean Thomas. We're not related."

"Not even distant cousins," said the boy. "Far as I know, anyway. I'm not quite up on my family on my biological father's side… and we do both seem to have these weird powers…"

"Powers. Yes," Flora said hurriedly, happy to have a topic to grasp onto. "That would be magic. See, some people are born with magic powers. You two are witches."

"Hah!" Dean looked triumphantly at Hermione. _"Told_ you it was magic!" Then he frowned. "Wait… witches?"

"Yes! Well, that is… Hermione, _you're_ a witch. Dean, you'd be a wizard. Sorry, there just aren't a lot of wizards around, so Phoebe and I, we were kinda put off our stride here."

"So…" said Dean hesitantly. "I'm a wizard? Hocus pocus, light fires without matches, turn people into frogs, control the weather, make broomsticks fly, that sort of thing?"

"Well, broomsticks are traditionally for witches, weather control is restricted by the Ministry, and you really shouldn't turn people into frogs, that's just mean," said Flora. "But… yes, pretty much."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if about to say something and then thinking better of it. After a few false starts, she settled for: "So it really _is_ magic... I mean, it's not just some form of hypnosis."

"Maybe a demonstration's in order." Flora pulled her wand out of her pocket. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Er… pink?"

"Then watch this. _Colovaria!"_ Flora flicked her wand towards Hermione's yellow t-shirt, which immediately shifted and turned a cute light pink. Her blue shorts followed suit, turning a deeper, darker pink.

Hermione shrieked in surprise.

"That was so cool!" said Dean. "Do me! My favourite colour is red!"

Flora obliged, and Dean's light blue t-shirt turned a bright, fiery red.

"It _could_ be a trick," said Hermione, a little shakily. "You _could_ have hypnotised us both and made us think we saw our clothes change colour..."

"But I didn't," said Flora. She very gently placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I know it's a lot to take in, but magic is real."

Hermione looked at her and then sighed. "I know," she said, in a tone that was part relief and part annoyance. "I think I always knew. It just sounded too ludicrous to say it out loud... _magic is real and I'm a witch."_

"You get used to it," said Flora comfortingly.

"I suppose you would," Hermione agreed. _"How,_ though?"

"How do you get used to it?"

"No, I mean... how am I a witch? What _happened_ to me to make me a witch?"

"Nothing happened to you, you were just born that way," said Flora. "Just like me... or just like Dean. for that matter. Magic is something you're born with, it's as simple as that. Look, how about we all sit down somewhere, and I'll explain everything. Then we can see about reversing your magic afterwards. I promise you, everything's going to be all right."

Phoebe, who had been mercifully silent during all this, suddenly grabbed Flora's shoulder. "Could I just have a quick word with you first?" she said sweetly.

"Um… okay," said Flora. "Excuse us for a moment." She let Phoebe drag her off to a corner of the library, leaving Dean and Hermione to talk excitedly among themselves.

"This is big!" Phoebe hissed as soon as they were far enough away from the children. "The girl won't be a problem, but the boy… He's a _boy!_ A _Baby-Boy-Prude!_ What do we _do_ about this? You realise we have to report this to the Office?"

"First of all, never say 'Baby-Boy-Prude' again," said Flora. "Second of all, let's take a moment to think here. What's the Office going to do when they find out we have a male Muggle-born here? Place him under supervision? Take him away from his Muggle family and forcibly place him in a coven to 'educate' him on the ways of the witching world?"

"Well… probably."

"That's _cruel!_ Besides, I'll admit I'm no expert on recent witching history, but wasn't that _exactly_ what they did with Tom Riddle? Took him away from his Muggle life to be raised by a coven? Look how that turned out!"

"So what are you suggesting?" said Phoebe. "Let him grow up in the Muggle world and not be prepared for what he'll face in the witching world? You _know_ that the moment he steps into our world, all eyes are going to be on him. They'll eat him alive if he's not prepared! Besides," she added as she thought of another argument. "No matter if we try to keep this hidden, the Ministry's going to find out sooner or later. Do _you_ want to explain to them that we found a male Muggle-born and didn't report it?"

"All right, all right," said Flora. "I've got it. Here's what we'll do. If we can put off reporting this to the Ministry for a few days, I can contact someone. A friend of my coven. I'm sure he'll be able to help."

"Friend of your… Oh, no," Phoebe groaned. "Don't tell me you're talking about that tosser Albus Dumbledore!"

"Okay, I won't tell you," said Flora sweetly. "But I am."


	9. Journey to Brighton

**CHAPTER 9: Journey to Brighton**

* * *

Breakfast was probably Holly's favourite meal of the day. Not because she was so incredibly fond of eggs and toast, but because at the Dursleys', breakfast tended to be a pleasantly quiet and sedate affair.

None of the Dursleys were morning people, and so nobody really felt like making too much of a fuss, at least not before Uncle Vernon had finished reading the newspaper and had his second cup of coffee. After that second cup he might wake up a little and start getting more energetically unpleasant… but until then nobody was paying Holly much mind. Aunt Petunia drank her tea and pretty much ignored Holly unless she was telling her to get the mail or clear the table, and Dudley was usually too busy eating to talk to anyone, other than to ask for a second or third helping.

Which was why, this morning, Holly felt quite safe risking nabbing a few extra slices of bacon from the pan to celebrate. Today was the day: Finally she was eight years old. No more being "almost" eight for her!

Of course, she wasn't expecting her family to care or even remember. Dudley's birthdays were always a huge deal in the Dursley home, with cake and ice cream and lots of presents, but Holly's birthdays tended to be quietly ignored. This year would be different, though. This year, for the first time ever, she had _birthday plans._

As Uncle Vernon folded his newspaper together and raised himself to get ready for work, she said as casually as she could: "By the way, I'm going out for a walk afterwards. I might be home late."

"So?" said Uncle Vernon, shooting her an annoyed glare.

"I just don't want you to worry about me," said Holly sweetly.

"Don't cheek your uncle!" Aunt Petunia snapped. She hadn't threatened Holly with another spanking ever since that failed attempt a few weeks back, but she was still as snappish as ever. "Be gone as long as you like, but if you're not back in time for dinner, you're not _getting_ any dinner. Understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Holly, as obediently as she could.

"And stay away from Number Seven!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"I mean it. Those two freaks aren't _normal."_

"I'll stay _far_ away from Number Seven, I promise."

"And before you go anywhere, you're doing the dishes."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

" _Properly_ , Holly. I'll check."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Dudley, who had just polished off the last of the fried eggs looked up. He seemed strangely thoughtful.

And as Aunt Petunia followed Uncle Vernon out into the hallway to kiss him good-bye, and Holly carried the dishes towards the sink, Dudley shifted in his chair and pulled a book out of his pocket. It was a small book, about the size of a common notebook if perhaps a little thicker. It was bound in red leather and its pages were yellowed, but it showed no sign of any wear from being kept in a pocket.

This was, of course, the _Guidebook._ It was an invention of Mr Dumbledore's, and it was magic… though, and this was the clever bit, not so anyone who didn't know about magic would notice. It looked to the world like a completely normal book, and thumbing through it would just reveal completely normal pages with random information about completely normal things… but if you knew the trick, which Dudley did, it was a lot more useful.

Now, Dudley closed his eyes, opened the Guidebook on a random page, and opened his eyes again. As he scanned the page, he at first grinned, and then grew serious. He put the book down, looked back at Holly and said, in a soft voice: "Er… Holly… if you _are_ late for dinner… _I'll_ save you some."

"Oh." Holly wasn't sure what to say. "Er. Thanks."

"Yeah." Dudley didn't seem too sure what to say either. "It's. You know. You shouldn't have to go hungry when it's your birthday and all. So. You know. Happy birthday and all that."

"Thanks."

The silence quickly grew awkward. Holly began working on the dishes in order to feel less self-conscious about it. Truth was, neither Holly nor Dudley were quite certain how to act now that they were supposed to be civil with one another. But they _had_ promised Mr Dumbledore, and to Holly had to admit that Dudley _was_ making an effort. He did have a way to go yet. He hadn't offered to help with the dishes, or to get her a birthday present… but considering how Dudley had never in his life thought about anyone but himself, just offering to save food for Holly so she wouldn't have to go hungry was a _huge_ improvement. Not that she would need him to save food for her _today_ , but Holly was starting to see the value of having Dudley as an ally rather than an enemy.

"How's it going with your Guidebook, anyway?" she said after a while, more because she thought it would be polite to ask than because she was actually interested.

"Oh, it's brilliant!" said Dudley, much more enthusiastically. "It has the answer to _everything!_ I don't care what Mum and Dad say; if Mr Dumbledore really invented this, he's all right in _my_ book!" He beamed at her as if he'd said something clever.

"Er… that's good," said Holly.

"Get it _? My book?"_ said Dudley, a little more forcefully, as he picked the book back up.

"Yeah, I get it."

"Cause, you know, _this_ is a book."

"I get it, Dudley."

"Right." Dudley seemed disappointed at the lack of a reaction, but apparently decided not to make a big deal out of it.

As Holly left Number Four about twenty minutes later, dishes done to even Aunt Petunia's satisfaction, she mused how much Dudley had improved… a few weeks back, before the "baby girl" incident, Dudley's idea of a joke had been to act like a bully and laugh as his victim cried. Puns and wordplay, however bad, were a step in the right direction as far as Holly was concerned.

But then, the Guidebook had probably helped. Mr Dumbledore had given it to Dudley on condition that he stopped bullying Holly and promised not to use the book for "anything worse than just mild mischief." Dudley, who normally thought books were a waste of time compared to television, computers and video games, had quickly taken to the Guidebook after he'd been taught the trick: If you closed your eyes and opened the book to a random page, that page would always tell you the best thing to do at that particular moment. Not just general advice, but fun things to do when you were bored, or clever ways to tackle a particular problem, or words of encouragement, or just suggestions for how to turn a bad situation into a good one.

Apparently, the Guidebook also had a bit of a cheeky sense of humour and could even act as a strategy guide for tricky video games, which had raised Dudley's esteem for it further. And, like now, it did seem to give him some hints on how to act in order to keep up his end of the bargain and actually be civil to Holly. She was pretty certain that it was the Guidebook that had reminded him that it was her birthday and that it wasn't nice to let anyone go hungry on their birthday.

But then, Dudley wasn't the only one who was now the owner of a life-changing object…Holly slipped her hand into her pocket to let her fingers lightly brush against her wand, just to make certain the still had it. She'd long since established that the wand would fit into any pocket if she just wanted it to; even the shorts she was wearing now, which barely had room for a bit of pocket change, still roomed the long wand with no problems.

"Right, Lily, we're off," she whispered.

She could almost feel Aunt Petunia's eyes on her as she walked down the driveway... probably checking to see if Holly decided to cross the street and approach Number Seven. Grown-ups could be so _predictable_ at times, she thought, and headed in the direction of Magnolia Road while making certain to not even _glance_ in the direction of Number Seven.

By Magnolia Road, far away from Aunt Petunia's prying eyes, Hagrid was waiting for her with his motorbike, wearing an enormous helmet and a pair of goggles.

"An' here's the birthday girl," he beamed as he saw her. "Look at yeh. Eight years old already! Ready for yer birthday trip?"

Holly nodded eagerly, and then pulled her wand out of her pocked. "So's Lily! She says hi, by the way."

"Er. Hi, Lily," said Hagrid to the wand before looking back at Holly. "Still talks to yeh in yer dreams, does she?"

"Yes," Holly nodded again. She often spoke to Lily in her dreams now. Last night, they had talked for a long time about Holly's birthday trip to the Witching District in London.

Lily had told her all about the district; hidden from Muggle eyes, it was the centre of the witching world here in England, and housed a handful of markets, alleys and squares, with funny names like Carkitt Market, Diagon Alley, Hexagon Square, Knockturn Alley… well, okay, Lily had made her promise to stay away from Knockturn Alley "at least until you're a little older, and no, eight is not old enough." Holly still wasn't very good at this "having a mother" business, but she was starting to suspect that it involved quite a lot of being told to wait until you were older.

Oh well. Knockturn Alley aside, she'd get to see all these magical places today! She could hardly wait. She'd meet more witches, probably get to see a whole lot more magic…

"Where's Mr Dumbledore?" she said, noticing that the sidecar on Hagrid's enormous motorbike was empty.

"Ah, he'll be meetin' us in Diagon Alley," said Hagrid. "Some work-related things he had ter take care of first. By the way, I hope yeh don' mind, but… there's a sligh' change o' plans. We _were_ gonna go straigh' ter London for yer birthday celebration, but we'll need ter pop a quick trip down ter Brighton first."

"Brighton?" Holly repeated, a little confused.

"Yeah, but don' yeh worry. We'll be flyin, so we'll be there in no time. Shouldn't take more than half an hour extra, at most."

"Okay… but why are we going to Brighton?" said Holly.

"Didn' I say? Blimey, forget me own head next," said Hagrid sheepishly. "We're pickin' up a couple more kids, as a favour ter the Weasleys. New Muggle-borns, 'bout your age, jus' discovered their magic. Albus has promised ter help 'em out."

"Oh!" said Holly excitedly. "Muggle-borns!? Witches who grew up in the Muggle world, like me?! What are they like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid. "Haven't met them in person yet. On'y thing I know is that one of 'em's a wizard."

"Like a boy?" said Holly.

"Tha's right," said Hagrid. "Firs' Muggle-born wizard in ages, firs' one since... but, well, we'll see what he's like, won't we?"

Holly nodded slowly. Even if Dudley was getting more tolerable lately, she wasn't completely sure about the prospect of spending her birthday with a _boy..._ but if Mr Dumbledore had promised... besides, you never knew, maybe this boy was a decent person. Hagrid and Mr Dumbledore were boys, technically, and they were among the kindest people she knew. And it wasn't like anyone was telling her to enter a coven with this boy straight away or anything. If she didn't like him, she just wouldn't talk to him, and instead focus on all the other strange and wonderful things she'd be seeing in the Witching District. She had no doubt there'd be plenty of things there to distract her.

"Well," said Hagrid. "Get in the sidecar, now, we'll be off."

Holly climbed into the sidecar. She wasn't surprised to find that it was nice and roomy; even roomier than it looked from the outside… and Hagrid's bike was large enough that even from the outside it looked like the sidecar would have room for three Hollys. But just like her bed in the garden shed, this seat was somehow bigger than the space it took up; there would have been room for five Hagrids in this sidecar. At least if they were very close friends.

"Comfy?" said Hagrid. "Righ' then! Don' seem ter be anyone around… so watch this!"

He pointed at a switch near the speedometer, and flicked it. All of a sudden, the motorbike, Hagrid and even Holly herself… _faded_.

Well, no, Holly immediately realised. They didn't fade. They were still there, as solid as ever. They just turned… not invisible, exactly, more like they were taking on the colour and texture of their surroundings.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Hagrid, who was now rather hard to make out against his surroundings. "Keeps us from bein' seen. Wouldn' to ter end up in the newspaper, would it? _UFO shaped like motorbike spotted over Surrey."_

With a surprisingly soft, but still notable, roar of its engines, the motorbike started to move. The wind ruffled Holly's hair as Hagrid steered the bike down Magnolia Road and began speeding up as they reached Magnolia Crescent.

And then… then they were _flying._ Holly had to bite her lips not to squeal in delight as she felt the bike lift up in the air and saw over the edge of the sidecar how the streets grew smaller beneath her. All thoughts of boys and covens and distractions fled out of her head, crowded out by the sheer exhilaration. They were flying. _They were flying._ Soon, they were soaring high above Little Whinging, its houses the size of shoeboxes, then of matchboxes, then of ants… and soon they had put left the entire town behind and were flying over the woodlands and green hills of Surrey.

Holly clutched the edge of the sidecar, nearly hypnotized by the incredible view. This must be what it felt like to be a bird, soaring high above the earth, completely free from everything. Nothing but blue skies above you and below you a wonderful mitch-match of woodlands and roads and hills and fields…When she was older and learned how to fly, she'd _never_ come down to the ground. Well, maybe occasionally, to eat and go to the loo and things like that. But the rest of the time she'd be up in the skies, soaring around, free and happy, just like that naked lady over there…

Holly blinked. No, her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Right there, soaring on the breeze like it was the most natural thing in the world, was a naked lady. She was beautiful, there was no other word for it… but she was also clearly not human. Her skin was as blue as the sky around her, and her long white hair flowed behind her like a big white cloud, and she was shooting through the air like a playful dolphin, up and down, as if gravity was something that only happened to other people.

As Holly watched in astonishment, the naked lady twirled around on the winds, and then looked straight at Holly to give her a cheerful wave. Apparently, the Disillusionment Charm wasn't enough to hide from her.

"Hagrid!" Holly squeaked.

"Well, would yeh look at that!" Hagrid's voice was easily heard over the roar of the motorbike and the wind. "Don' see many of them around! ALL RIGH' THERE, MISS?" he called to the lady.

The lady beamed at him and blew him a kiss. She winked at Holly with an almost cheeky expression, and then swooped around to do an elegant loop around the motorbike before flipping around and flying off in another direction. Holly could hear her laugh as she sped off; a merry and melodious laughter that carried on the wind even better than Hagrid's voice.

Holly could only stare as the lady vanished in the sky.

"That was a sky nymph, Holly," said Hagrid. "Rarest kind o' nymph there is, or so they say. Don' worry, she wouldn'ta hurt yeh none."

"That was a nymph?" said Holly. She remembered Mr Dumbledore mentioning nymphs as one of the many magical races that lived in secret for the Muggles, but he hadn't really gone into detail. "I didn't know they were so…" Incredibly beautiful. "…naked."

"Well, yeah," said Hagrid, as if this wasn't a big deal. "Nymphs, they don' like clothes much. Kinda vain, ter be perfec'ly honest, love showin' off… They'd take it as an insult if yeh tried ter get 'em ter cover up. Yeh'll prolly see more nymphs at the Witching District, come ter think of it, there's usually one or two aroun' the green areas. So… er… y'know, when yeh do see them, make sure yeh don' tell 'em ter get dressed."

"Um… okay," said Holly, feeling a little embarrassed. "But if the sky nymphs fly around like this, without Disillusionment Charms or anything, why don't the Muggles see them?"

"Not sure the Muggles _can_ see 'em, at least not norm'ly," said Hagrid. "Sides, they're pretty high up, right? So yeh wouldn' see 'em from the ground anyway."

"What about aeroplanes?"

"Oh, the sky nymphs stay _well_ away from those," said Hagrid. "Much too noisy."

"Wow…" Holly was in awe. So many magical people and creatures that existed all around her, and she hadn't known about it before now. All of a sudden, she felt sorry for the Muggles… imagine living in a world full of magic, a world where motorbikes and naked ladies could fly, and _not being allowed to know about it._ If she'd been in charge, everybody would know how magical the world really was. And Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could grumble all they liked.

She didn't really have the time to think too much about this, though, because all too soon Hagrid called out: "Goin' in for landin' in a moment!"

Holly got a pretty good view of Brighton, out by the sea (and looking like a lot friendlier and more interesting place than prissy old Little Whinging), but they weren't actually entering the city. Instead, they came to a landing by a cluster of stone buildings by the coastline, a little way away from the city.

Well down on the ground, Hagrid switched off the Disillusionment Charm, and the motorbike faded back into view as they came to a halt outside a wrought iron gate, beyond which were the stone buildings of what looked to be a school of some sort.

A small group of people were waiting for them; three children and one adult. Holly's heart gave a little skip when she realised that she _knew_ one of the children.

 _"Holly!"_ Even before she could climb out of the sidecar, Holly found herself wrapped in an enormous hug from Ronnie Weasley of the Prewett line. "Happy birthday!"

"Ronnie!" Holly returned the hug. It was weird; she'd only met the girl once before, but here and now it felt just like meeting an old friend again. "I didn't know you'd be here!"

"I nagged them until they let me come!" said Ronnie and eased up on the hug to let Holly climb out of the sidecar. She hadn't changed at all since Holly saw her last; she was just as tall, skinny and freckled as before. But instead of the blue dress and mismatched stockings, now she was wearing a bright yellow tunic and flowery pink leggings. "Hi, Hagrid!"

"All righ' there, Ronnie?" he greeted. "Everyone ready fer the trip ter London?"

"Yeah!" said Ronnie. She took a step back to motion to the three others. "Molly-Mum's with us. She's my birth mother," she explained to Holly. "Flora-Mum was supposed to come, but then Dolly decided she wanted to be born tonight…"

"'Ere now, what's this?" said Hagrid, his bushy eyebrows raising in surprise. _"Dolly?!_ Flora's daughter's born already?"

"It happened at four o'clock this morning, Hagrid," said 'Molly-Mum.' She was a woman of indeterminate age, with a plump build and a round, good-natured face. The red hair and freckles confirmed her relationship with Ronnie. "A healthy little girl, seventeen and a half inches. We've named her 'Dahlia,' but the children immediately agreed to call her 'Dolly'."

"She looks like a dolly," said Ronnie sweetly. "A tiny, pink, wrinkled dolly. Besides, it rhymes with 'Holly,' and since they share a birthday…"

"All right, young lady, that's enough," said Molly-Mum before turning to Holly. "Hello, Holly dear. I'm Molly Weasley, of the Prewett line, Ronnie's birth-mum. Happy birthday!"

"Thank you, Mrs… er… Mrs Weasley of the Prewett line," said Holly, a little uncertainly.

The woman laughed. She had a nice laugh; not quite like Lily's, but there was a slight similarity nonetheless… a tone that, for want of a better word, might be called _motherly._ "Just call me Molly, dear. We witches aren't that big on formality. And this is Dean and Hermione."

Holly turned to the two children who weren't Ronnie, now taking the time to look a little more closely at them. The boy, who had to be Dean, thankfully didn't seem like too bad a sort. He was tall, taller than Ronnie, and actually kind of handsome with his dark skin and pleasant face. He had an air of laid-back cheerfulness about him that made her think she probably wouldn't mind spending her birthday in his company. The girl, who of course had to be Hermione, also had dark skin... but that was where her resemblance to the boy ended. She was short, just slightly taller than Holly (and Holly was well aware that she was small for her age), with large front teeth, a mop of bushy brown hair, and an expression of energetic curiosity.

"Hello," said Holly. "I'm Holly. Are you the Muggle-borns we're picking up?"

"Apparently," said Dean.

"We're not related!" said Hermione, hurriedly.

"Er, okay," said Holly, a little taken aback.

"Sorry, but everyone else asked if we're related," said Hermione sheepishly. "We're not. We just met up here at summer camp, we happened to be here at the same time, you see, and we discovered that we both had magic powers. And things got kind of out of hand for a bit…"

"We made the entire camp fall asleep," said Dean cheerfully.

"Right," said Hermione. "And apparently the witching world watches for really strong displays of magic in the Muggle world, so these two witches from the Ministry for Magic showed up to see what was going on, and they told us they'd help us set everything straight, and apparently Dean being a boy was a really big deal, because there aren't all that many boy witches – wizards, I mean wizards – and there was this long talk about what to do with him…" Here, Hermione had to stop to take a breath. "Eventually they said they'd arrange for us to get a little introduction to the witching world so we could help explain things to our families, and figure out where to go from here. Oh, happy birthday, by the way," she added, looking at Holly. "They said it was your birthday. How old are you?"

"Eight," said Holly proudly.

"Oh! So are we! Well, I'll be nine in September," said Hermione.

"We'll all be in the same year at Hogwarts!" said Ronnie excitedly. "Maybe we'll even be in the same house! Well, not you, Dean, cause you're a boy. You'll be a Merlin."

"Merlin?" said Holly. "Like, the wizard Merlin? From really, really long ago?"

"Yeah, House Merlin is named after him," said Ronnie. "It's the boy house at Hogwarts. Er, you know about school houses, right?" she added a little uncertainly with a glance at Dean and Hermione. "Like, houses for students?"

"Yes, Ronnie, we know about school houses," said Hermione. "Believe it or not, we do have schools, _and_ boarding schools, in the Muggle world too. _This_ is a school, as a matter of fact."

"Right now it's a camp," said Dean.

"But it's _usually_ a school." Hermione insisted.

"Well, I wasn't sure," said Ronnie defensively. "I forgot to ask Mandy-Mum about it. Oh, by the way," she added as she thought of something else. "Holly, is it true what they said, that you didn't know about magic at _all_ when I met you last?"

Holly could feel herself blush. "Well…"

"Wow," said Ronnie. "And I was going on about Muggles and the Hogwarts Express and everything! You must have thought I was _mental!"_

"I didn't!" Holly assured her. "A little weird, but not mental."

"That's all right then," said Ronnie. "Being weird isn't bad. I'll tell you all about the witching world. All three of you," she hurried to add, looking at Dean and Hermione. "And don't worry about being a boy, Dean, I've met _lots_ of boys before."

"Er, yeah, so have I," said Dean.

"I personally know _three,"_ said Ronnie, as if this was an impressive number. _"Four_ if you count Dad. And I've _seen_ many more. Can't even _count_ all the boys I've seen, it's that many."

Luckily, before any of them had to figure out how to respond to that, Molly called: "All right, everyone, get in the sidecar."

Just like Holly had suspected, but which seemed to greatly impress Dean and Hermione, all five of them fit in the sidecar with no problem. Holly sat between Ronnie and Hermione, with Molly and Dean on each side, like they were on a roomy couch.

"It's an Expansion Charm," Ronnie explained, eager to make good on her word of telling them about the witching world. "Everybody uses Expansion Charms, on cars or suitcases or rooms or beds…It's a great way to make more room, without _taking up_ more room."

"I get it," said Dean. "It's like the TARDIS, isn't it?"

"The what?" said Ronnie, confused.

"You know... bigger on the inside."

"Does it work on books?" Hermione interrupted. "I mean – could you use an Expansion Charm to fit thirty books into a backpack?"

"Probably," said Ronnie. "Have you been doing that?"

"Yes, but I didn't know it was magic," said Hermione. "I thought I was just good at packing books." She made herself comfortable, looking around with curiosity. "I've never been on a motorbike before. How long will it take to get to London? When my parents drove me here in their car, it took about two hours."

"Well, we'll be goin' a bit faster," Hagrid chuckled and patted the motorbike. "This ol' girl's gonna get us there in fifteen, twenty minutes. At most."

"It's a flying motorbike!" said Holly.

"F-flying?" Hermione blinked.

"A flying motorbike!" Dean exclaimed. "Now _that's_ cool!"

"Yes!" Holly agreed. "We flew here from Surrey! It was amazing!" She was already looking forward to flying to London, and this time it would be even more fun because she'd have three other children with her to share the excitement.

"Oh…" said Hermione, a lot more softly.

"Our family has a flying car," Ronnie offered. "It's Dad's pride and joy. But we hardly ever use it, because the Invisibility Booster's faulty, and my sister Charlie once got in trouble for – are you okay?" she added, looking at Hermione.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" said Hermione. "Flying motorbike! Really! How fascinating! Not just a regular motorbike with an Expansion Charm on the sidecar, but a flying one! That's obviously a lot better! Flying is the safest way to travel, my mother says!"

"Righ' then, we're off!" Once more, Hagrid activated the Disillusionment Charm, to make the bike and everyone in it take on the colour and texture of their surroundings (which greatly fascinated Dean, who immediately wanted to know if he could learn this kind of spell) and started the engine.

"This is very fascinating," said a near-invisible Hermione in an oddly high-pitched voice as they picked up speed and zoomed down the road.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?" said Ronnie.

"Yes! I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm– _AAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"_ Hermione's voice raised to a loud squeal, because now the motorbike took off and rose up into the air.

"We're flying!" Dean called excitedly. "Hermione, look, we're flying – Hermione, _let go!"_

Because everything was still Disillusioned, details weren't the easiest to make out, but Holly found she could still make out the shapes and forms of the others... and what she saw was that Hermione had, on what seemed like pure instinct, grabbed hold of Dean and was clutching onto him as if for dear life. She had shut her eyes tightly and instead of letting go she just clung harder to him, she just clung on harder, letting out a high-pitched whimper.

"Are yeh all righ' there?" called Hagrid over roar of the wind. "Want me ter land?"

"No!" Holly, Dean and Ronnie all cried at the same time.

"Oh, dear," said Molly. Unlike Hagrid, she didn't have to shout to be heard over the wind; it seemed like everyone in the sidecar could hear each other okay. So Holly had no problems making out the words as she said: "Ronnie, Holly, please trade places with me."

As Holly and Ronnie slid out of the way, Molly carefully sat down next to Hermione, very gently loosening her grip on a grateful Dean. "Hermione, sweetie… you're afraid of flying, aren't you?"

"No," Hermione squeaked. "Flying's the safest way to travel, flying's the safest way to travel…" Made to let go of Dean, she instead clutched onto Molly and refused to open her eyes. She seemed so small and helpless that Holly felt incredibly sorry for her,

"It's all right, there's nothing to be ashamed of," said Molly soothingly as she stroked Hermione's frizzy hair. "Just focus on me… open your eyes... that's good. Now take a deep breath and count to thirty."

Hermione heaved for her breath. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… eight, nine… ten…" To Holly's amazement, as Hermione counted, she started to relax, her grip on Molly easing up. "Eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifff-teen… ahh…" The panicked tone on her voice gradually lessened as well, and her counting was going slower and slower.

"Hermione?" said Dean uncertainly.

"Mmm...?" she answered.

"Are you okay?"

"Mmm-hmm..."

"Are you sure? You sound... hypnotized or something."

"Oh... okay."

Holly had been following this little scene with growing fascination. She couldn't help but think back a few weeks, when she herself had been made to fall asleep by magic. There were some very clear similarities here, except Hermione clearly wasn't asleep... the Disillusionment charm made it hard to see, but the girl's eyes did seem to be slightly open, and she was at least responding when they talked to her, even if it was mostly in sleepy murmurs... maybe Dean was right and she was hypnotized.

"She's calm-weaved," Ronnie explained.

"Calm...what?" said Holly.

"Calm-weaved," Ronnie repeated. "It's a sort of magic that makes you all calm, and you just stop caring about whatever's scaring you. Makes you sleepy, though, you kind of go into this trance thingy..."

"So she _is_ hypnotized then," said Holly. "Hermione, meow like a cat."

Hermione took a deep, sleepy breath. "No thank you..."

"All right, let's not bother the poor dear," said Molly in a motherly tone, and began stroking Hermione's hair. "I _am_ sorry about all this, Hermione. You'll feel a little drowsy and lethargic for a while, but you'll wake up when we land. If we'd known you had a problem with heights, we wouldn't have taken you in this motorbike. We'll find a different way of getting you back to Brighton afterwards, all right?"

"Mmmmm…" Hermione breathed. "Okay…"

"Why didn't you just _tell_ us you didn't like flying before we started, Hermione?" said Ronnie.

It took several seconds before Hermione answered. When she did, she spoke quite clearly, even if her tone was still distant and dreamy. "You seemed so excited… I didn't want you to think I was a coward or something... Imagine a witch who's afraid of heights…"

"I'm a witch who's afraid of spiders," said Ronnie, wrapping her arms around Hermione in a warm hug. "Ugly, nasty, creepy things. Everyone's afraid of something, right, Molly-Mum?"

"That's right, dear," said Molly. She slowly let go of Hermione to let her daughter cuddle her instead. "Just relax, Hermione, we'll be in London before you know it."

"Mmm... that's nice..." Hermione murmured. She flopped against Ronnie, resting her head on the girl's shoulder.

She spent the rest of the flight dozing in Ronnie's arms, while the girl cuddled her and talked to her in a soft and comforting voice about pretty much anything she could think about: Her five mothers and their careers, her father's odd hobby of collecting Muggle devices, funny things her sisters had said and done, the various shops and sights at the witching district, the time she'd met a baby hippogriff and been allowed to pet it, several stories about someone named Cissy or Sissy... of course, the half-asleep Hermione probably didn't need the distraction anymore, and might not even be awake enough to remember everything that was said to her, but Holly thought it was sweet of Ronnie nonetheless...

Under pretty much any other circumstances, Holly would have been closely paying attention to Ronnie's stories, and the tales of the witching world she was about to get to know better... but who could pay attention to stories when they were _flying?_ Holly and Dean (who thankfully seemed to share Holly's enthusiasm for flying, and seemed satisfied that Hermione would be okay) spent most of their time looking out over the landscape far below them.

"I keep thinking how insane this all is," said Dean after a while. "The calm-weaving, I get. I've known how to put people to sleep for ages. But... motorbikes that fly and turn almost invisible? Secret magic societies? A couple of days ago, I didn't even know things like this was possible."

"I did," said Holly. But was honest enough to add: "But I haven't known it for very long. I found out about magic a few weeks ago."

"Ever been to this Witching District before?"

"No, but my… er… a girl named Lily told me about it." Holly almost absently moved her hand down to feel the contours of her wand in her pocket.

"Oh, and she's a witch?"

"Kind of."

"Cool." Dean paused. "Never knew any witches before. But I'm going to have to get used to it… They say there are a lot more witches than wizards."

"Yeah… I asked Lily why, but she didn't know. Said she always just thought magic likes girls better than boys."

"No accounting for taste," said Dean.

 _"Hey!"_

"Joking! Joking!" Dean raised his hands disarmingly, which looked rather odd with the Disillusionment charm. "Did they tell you about the covens, by the way? These two witches held a pretty long lecture for Hermione and me about how witches lived in covens, and one guy had to marry several girls..."

"Yeah," said Holly. A little hesitantly, she asked: "What did you think about that?"

"Perfectly honest? It sounds absolutely mental," said Dean. "One guy, having to marry five or six girls? I don't even want to marry _one_ girl, and now they tell me I have to marry several?"

"I know! It's crazy!" said Holly, relieved that he seemed to be on the same page. "And when I said that to Lily... when I said I didn't ever want to join a coven, she just smiled and said we'd see if I felt the same way when I was older!"

Dean rolled his eyes, or at least Holly _thought_ he rolled his eyes. "Isn't that _just_ like a grown-up? _'Oh, you'll understand when you're older. You're too young to know any better, you'll change your mind when you're a wise and experienced adult like us.'_ That's what the two witches from the Ministry said too. Well, Ronnie's Mum, I mean Ronnie's _other_ Mum, the one who's not here because she had a baby... she was at least _nice_ about it. That other Ministry witch was much worse. When I said I didn't like the idea of a coven, she went into this long tirade about a bloke called Tom Riddle..."

"Tom Riddle!" Holly repeated.

"Yeah, he was an evil wizard or something, but he died. Have you heard of him?"

"Er… yes," said Holly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "Er... I think my mother kind of… killed him? Or, well, he and my mother killed each other?"

It took her the rest of the flight to explain.


End file.
